


At the Hour of Our Death

by RCs Many Posts (Parker4131970)



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Ghosts, Haunting, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 13:16:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1984362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker4131970/pseuds/RCs%20Many%20Posts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a near death experience and time in limbo, Meg can see Robert Fraser as well as other ghosts. Ben must help her through.</p><p> <br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At the Hour of Our Death

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the title for this story from an episode of Pretender. Also, I posted this on Six Degrees, but if you have a different take on the story, feel free to re-write it.

_**Canadian Consulate, Chicago, Illinois …** _

Chicago in summer is only slightly cooler than the devil's griddle. Inspector Margaret Thatcher wondered if she could strip down any farther without being arrested for indecent exposure as she lay in front of the fan in her apartment. She hadn't been able to sleep for three days, not since the building's central air quit. The site manager had been called, the property owners and every HVAC company in Chicago. They were overworked during the heat wave.

“I might as well go to the consulate, the air works there.” Meg dragged herself up and went to her closet. The very sight of her business suits made her itch. A light weight pair of khakis and an RCMP tee shirt were as cool and professional a she could manage. Grabbing her purse, the Inspector headed to the consulate to cool off and get started on the next day's paperwork.

_**Ray Vecchio's House ….** _

“Frannie, get me another root beer.” Ray shouted from the couch where he and Fraser sat watching baseball on television.

“Get it yourself, Ray.” the detective's spicy, younger sister shouted right back, only louder. She walked into the living room and sat down on the arm of the couch, barely inches away from the misplaced, Canadian Mountie.

“Fraser, would you like anything to drink?” she offered, a hunger in her dark, brown eyes.

“No, thank you, Francesca.” Benton Fraser, Mountie extraordinaire, squirmed toward his unofficial partner on the short couch. It wasn't that he didn't like Frannie, it was that she liked him _too_ much.

“I could make you a sandwich or something, just name it, Fraser.” Frannie tried again. She'd always heard that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach.

“No, thank you, I'm quite full from the lasagna you and your mother fixed for lunch.” Ben smiled up at her.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Head for home plate.” Ray popped off the couch, rooting for his team, fists beating the air as the player raced for home plate. When the television and all the lights went off he stopped rooting and began fuming.

“Ray! Watch your language please.” Ma Vecchio shouted from the kitchen.

“Sorry, Ma.” he called back.

“I'll go check the fuse box.” the off-duty detective walked toward the kitchen where his mother already stood with a flashlight. Fraser nodded and followed him into the large space.

“Let me in there, Ma.” Ray edged her out of his way.

“It won't do any good, Ray.” Maria, his younger sister informed him as she walked in the back door.

“It's just a fuse.” Ray shrugged her off.

“The electric is out all over the neighborhood.” Maria made a face at her brother.

“I'll call the company, may as well listen to some elevator music.” Ma Vecchio said, wiping her hands on the white apron with a blue gingham border at her waist. The only time she didn't wear an apron was to Mass on Sunday. Once or twice she'd forgotten and worn one then too.

“Ray, I should go, I should check on the consulate.” Fraser pulled his friend out of the knot of Vecchios in the kitchen.

“Do you need a ride, traffic will be crazy.” Ray asked, barely able to make out the Mountie's face.

“No, I'll walk, thank you kindly.” Fraser assured him. In the darkness and noise of the Vecchio house, he didn't see or hear Frannie slip up behind him. He did, however, feel her finger pinch his tush through the brown uniform pants he wore.

“Oh dear.” Ben jumped, nearly knocking Ray over.

“Frannie!” Ray bellowed, hearing his sister giggle.

“I should go, now.” Fraser moved toward the front door to collect his Stetson and uniform coat.

“Yeah, maybe you'd better, or Frannie'll chase you around the house.” Ray didn't want to imagine what would happen if she caught him.

“Yes, she would. I should get going. Thank your mother again for me for lunch, it was wonderful.” Ben pulled his Stetson down and let himself out. Ray followed, an amused grin on his face. He kinda liked watching the Mountie squirm from time to time.

***

Ben walked to the consulate at his usual, ground eating pace. Diefenbaker had elected to stay in the cool, quiet building, despite knowing he would be slipped treats by the Vecchios if he accompanied Ben. The scorching heat wasn't worth the small bits of food.

In the alley between the consulate and the offices next door, Ben saw a pair of tennis shoes sticking out behind the dumpster. Listening closely, he heard someone moan in pain. Rounding the dumpster, he saw his worst fear, Meg lying in a pool of her own blood. The metallic scent hit the back of his throat and stuck. Her dark hair was soaked with blood from a head wound. The dark, browning stain on her red, RCMP tee shirt made Ben sick. Thankfully, there wasn't any sign of sexual assault. Ben checked her pulse and breathing. Both weren't what they should have been. He rolled up his uniform coat and made Meg as comfortable as possible before heading into the consulate to call an ambulance.

“There's been an assault outside the Canadian Consulate, I need an ambulance.” the Mountie closed his eyes as he spoke but all he could see was Meg lying in the alley behind the dumpster. He gave the dispatcher the address and quickly got off the line to go back outside.

Meg looked up at the clearest blue sky she'd ever seen. Dumpling clouded floated carelessly overhead, silver linings shining in the afternoon light. The shade of the building shielded her eyes as she lay on her back. It didn't occur to her to ask where she was or what had happened. Neither pain nor fear penetrated her brain.

“Inspector Thatcher, Inspector.” a familiar voice called from somewhere very far away. She liked that voice, it was comforting and inviting.

“Inspector, look at me.” gentle but strong hands lifted Meg's head a bit to look into beautiful but troubled eyes. They were filled with concern and something bordering on desperation. It was too much, looking into those Atlantic blue eyes. She wanted to see them smile instead. Meg let her eyes close, letting herself ease into the darkness, quiet, comfortable darkness.

“Inspector, please, come back.” that pleasant voice called, farther away this time. Somewhere a siren wailed incessantly.

****

Ray's cell phone rang as he paced the front porch, trying to catch a stray breeze from moving cars along the street. Most of his neighbors were doing the same thing. Everyone waited impatiently for the electric company to fix the problem.

“Vecchio here.” He spoke lazily into the phone. Thankfully, it still worked.

“Detective, there's been an assault at the consulate, you'd better get down there.” Welsh's voice sounded heavy and old over the line.

“Is Fraser okay?” Ray automatically asked, standing still.

“Yeah, it's the Inspector.” Welsh answered.

“I'll be there in five, Sir.” Ray hung up and hurried inside to tell Frannie he'd been called to work, but nothing about the assault. He took off in the Riviera, his dash light flashing frantically.

***

Ray parked his green gem across the street from the consulate and elbowed his way through uniformed officers to the scene of the crime. Fraser stood at the back of an ambulance, blood on his hands and uniform.

“Fraser, what's going on?” Ray walked up to him, using his pocket notebook as a fan.

“I found Inspector Thatcher unconscious behind the dumpster, she'd been stabbed, blunt force trauma to the head. I called 911.” Ben stared over Ray's shoulder, carefully reciting the events. His pale face was even paler, somehow.

“How is she?” Ray asked, concerned about his friend.

“I'm not certain, Ray, there was a significant amount of blood loss.” Ben shook his head. He'd been in dangerous situations before, been injured himself and helped others injured either deliberately or accidentally. None of that had prepared him for the sight of Inspector Thatcher lying on her back, looking up at the sky as if she were simply watching the clouds instead of bleeding to death. He'd felt the same when Ray had been shot and in the hospital after they'd first met. Somehow, this was different.

“She'll be fine, Fraser, she's a tough cookie, gotta be to be a lady Mountie, right.” Ray laid a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder.

“Yes, she's quite resilient.” Ben spoke but without conviction.

“Let me get the crime scene guys going on this and I'll be with you.” Ray pulled away, back to the job.

“I should go to the hospital with the Inspector.” Ben stood up straight, looking at Ray for the first time.

“You need to get cleaned up, I'll get one of the uniforms to take you.” Ray pointed toward the consulate.

“Thank you kindly, Ray, I'd very much appreciate that.” the Mountie turned and walked into the consulate where he kept a spare set of clothes in his office.

A few minutes later Fraser strode out of the consulate in a fresh uniform. Ray had been joined by Lieutenant Walsh. A team of technicians with cameras and equipment buzzed around the scene.

“Constable Fraser.” Welsh called him over, one hand waving. The older officer had sweat stains under each arm and his tie hung loose around his neck.

“Hello, Leftenant.” Fraser greeted him with a grim face.

“We're doing everything possible to catch this guy. We'll keep you informed, alright?” Welsh saw the haunted look in the younger man's eyes. He'd seen it too often in his career.

“Thank you kindly, Sir, I'll make certain to pass that on to my superiors.” the Mountie looked from Welsh to Ray.

“Officer Marks is ready to drive you to the hospital.” Ray walked with Ben over to a waiting squad car. “Benny, if you need anything, let me know, okay.” He offered in a low tone.

“Thank you, Ray, I will.” Ben stepped into the squad car and the officer took off. Welsh and Ray both watched him leave.

***

 


	2. Borderland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Borderland and Robert Fraser

_**Borderland ….** _

Meg's eyes opened to look at the sky again. The same, dumpling clouds passed by overhead but the air was different. Cold, fresh air filled her lungs. Instead of a brick building, barren trees shielded her. Sitting up, Meg took in several inches of snow on the ground, barren trees and flat ground as far as she could see. The cold hit her when she realized she'd been lying on a dry sand bank near a swiftly flowing creek. The lady Mountie got to her feet and began looking around for any clue as to where this place existed. In the distance she saw a small cabin, smoke curling up from the stone fireplace. The scent of damp earth and evergreens filled the air.

Slowly, Meg made her way across the creek, toward the cabin. It seemed to take forever arrive at the large, flat stone that served as a door step. She hadn't smelled woodsmoke since her training days at Depot. Wilderness training was standard, so Meg had sucked it up and done it.

Meg knocked on the heavy front door of the cabin. Shivering and irritated, she wanted someone to explain where the hell she was. The last time she'd checked, she had been walking down the street toward the consulate, sweat pooling around the elastic of her bra.

“Hello in there!” Meg beat the side of her fist on the door again. She nearly fell inside when it opened.

“What in the devil!” An older man with mostly white hair and rheumy blue eyes exclaimed.

“May I come in?” Meg rubbed her arms, trying to warm herself. The older man poked his head out the door and looked around at the woods and the creek nearby.

“What are you doing here?” He turned those blue eyes on her. They blazed as he peered closer at the young woman standing on his door step.

“I don't know, I was walking up the street toward the consulate and,” Meg paused, what had happened next? “Anyway, the next thing I know, I'm looking up at the sky here. May I come inside, it's cold out here.”

Reluctantly, the older man stepped aside to allow her inside. The cabin was one large room with a fireplace off to the right. An armchair sat in the center of the room, beside a rough hewn table. Meg headed for the fireplace first thing.

“I'm Inspector Margaret Thatcher.” She stood warming herself, back to the fire. The older man closed the door and stepped slowly into the middle of the room. He wore a heavy sweater and a pair of khaki corduroy pants over heavy, leather boots. He appeared sturdy built and capable of taking care of himself.

“I'm Robert.” He shook Meg's hand politely then stood beside her at the fire, hands clasped behind his back.

“Where am I exactly?” Meg cut to the chase.

“Oh, there's no name for this place, I call it 'Borderland'.” Robert shrugged without looking at his guest.

“It's not Chicago, from the snow I would say I'm somewhere in the Northwest Territories. I'm not sure how that's possible though.” Meg ran her hands through her hair, desperate to remember what had happened on the sidewalk outside the consulate.

“Not likely, miss, this is a place where worlds blur.” Robert looked up from the flames to her face. He could see her struggle for some kind of explanation for her presence. The truth of the matter was, he didn't have one for her presence either, or his own for that matter. It was all an existential joke.

“Worlds just don't blur.” Meg contended skeptically.

“They do when you've been around as long as I have, Inspector.” Robert drew himself to his full height.

“How did you know I was an inspector?” Meg realized his slip up. Something about her host's bearing seemed familiar to Meg. The keen intelligence in his blue eyes reminded her of someone.

“I've seen you around.” The older man turned his back on her, studying the flames at his feet.

“But I've never seen you before in my life.” Meg's mind began to buzz with more questions.

“This isn't your life, Inspector.” Robert answered gravely, turning to meet her gaze.

“That's preposterous.” Meg stated, her dark eyes alive with suspicion and a touch of fear.

“Red suits you, Inspector.” Robert pointed to the red maple leaf on the left side of her RCMP shirt.

Meg took a step away from the fire, away from Robert, away from the thoughts just rising to the surface.

“I'm not …. You couldn't be. You're Sergeant Robert Fraser, you're Fraser's father, his deceased father.” Meg sat down in the arm chair, her face pale, hands shaking. “This is all a bad dream, I can't be dead.” she leaned over, elbows on her knees, face in both palms, stomach rolling.

“As far as I know, Borderland isn't the afterlife.” Robert continued to study the flames. They changed one way but stayed the same in others. “I've been here a year and a half, so I'm told.” He offered for comfort. The heavy sigh accompanied with it didn't soothe his impatience or Meg's disbelief.

“Why am I here, with you? Shouldn't I have my own Borderland?” Meg looked at the bare cabin around her. Couldn't she have gone to the beach along the French Riviera?

“I'm no expert, you'll have to figure it out for yourself.” Robert's tone grew testy.

“There's still so much left to do, I'm heading up the ranks, I'm young, attractive.” She whirled around when she heard Robert snicker.

“That's all well and good, but what have you left behind, subordinates that fear and loathe you, no husband, no children, who have you helped along the way?” Robert pointed out, speaking from experience. He could trade hindsights and regrets with her all day long.

“I'm a public servant, I serve my country, with honor.” Meg countered. Righteous indignation had begun to warm her from the inside out.

“Behind a desk, in Ottawa and Chicago, check again Missy.” Robert hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. He watched as Meg's eyes widened and her jaw clenched. Although he was, technically, a lower ranking officer, he's been with the Force longer than Meg had been alive, even at the time of his demise.

“I can see which parent Fraser takes after, and it's not you.” Meg turned back around, seething. Robert threw back his head and laughed. No DNA test need be done to prove Benton was his son, everyone who knew them both could attest to that.

Meg didn't like being laughed at. To the elder Fraser, she was an arrogant, little girl pouting over being in the Borderland and how that disrupted her precious life. In Borderland, rank didn't matter.

***


	3. Lead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not certain how fast one could trace a credit card during the time of the show, so if I've messed up, forgive me and lay it off as creative license/time cheating.

_**After Hours ….** _

Ben sat in the shadow of the private, hospital room, listening to the steady rhythm of Meg's ventilator. He'd been sitting beside her still form since night fall. She hadn't moved, hadn't made a sound. He wasn't use to the Inspector being so quiet, so motionless. He wished she'd sit up and tell him he was being a moron, that there were things to be done. Ben would have gladly run errands for her, just to know she was better.

“What were you doing outside the consulate on a Saturday? Why weren't you at home?” Ben whispered, speaking for the first time in hours. “Why wasn't I there?” he asked himself as much as the Inspector. He knew that he shouldn't blame himself, yet he did.

Softly, Ben slipped his hand beneath Thatcher's, her small, slim hand swallowed by his large, rough one. He'd felt her hands before, holding onto his waist as they rode horseback. She was stronger than she looked.

“You are stronger than you look, Inspector. You keep your true beauty behind the mask. I've seen you smile, I've heard you laugh, I've witnessed your passion. Come back, allow me one more glimpse behind the mask. Let me see your inner beauty again.” With the touch of an angel, Ben pressed a kiss to her palm and closed her fingers around it.

A tap on the door brought Ben back to the present. He laid her hand down and stood up, taking a deep breath first. Quietly, he opened the door to Ray. They stepped out into the hallway to talk.

“I just got a hit on one of Thatcher's credit cards, someone used it at a gas station along the highway.” Ray handed Ben a freshly printed sheet with the store's name and address listed.

“That's excellent.” Ben ran his thumbnail over his brow, debating on whether or not to accompany Ray to the gas station. He didn't feel right leaving the Inspector alone.

“Come on, if we hurry the station attendant might still be on duty.” Ray was chomping at the bit to catch the perp. From the way Thatcher's skull had been fractured, her ribs cracked from being kicked and her arm sprained from being twisted up behind her back, this guy was a real beast. It was a miracle she hadn't died before Fraser found her.

“Just a moment, Ray, let me find Inspector Thatcher's nurse.” The Mountie found the middle aged nurse and gave her Ray's cell phone number, just in case. He thanked her kindly and met Ray at the end of the hallway.

***

Red light on the emerald hood of the Riviera turned it a shade of murky brown that reminded Ben of the blood on his hands at the scene of Thatcher's mugging. No, attempted murder, that's what Ray planned on charging the assailant with when, _when,_ he caught him.

In his head, Ben still sat at Thatcher's bedside when they pulled up to the gas station. The car stopped and Diefenbaker moved to be let out behind Ben before the Mountie moved. White and red, neon signs lit the small gas station still open at one o'clock in the morning. A bleary eyed woman about thirty greeted the fashionably dressed detective and the Mountie in full, red serge uniform. She ran her fingers through her short, brunette hair and smiled invitingly.

“How may I help you?” she leaned forward, a red badge spelling her name as 'Tori'. Ray pulled out his badge and held it for her to see clearly.

“I'm Detective Vecchio, this is Constable Fraser, our computers say someone used a credit card here about forty-five minutes ago, we'd like to see your security camera footage.” Ray leaned on the counter between a beef jerky display on his left and scratch-off lottery tickets on the right.

“This way.” Tori pointed over her shoulder to the manager's office. It was a small space, barely large enough for a desk and roller chair.

“Look, I'm here alone, Bobbi went home sick at eleven, can you do this without me?” Tori looked from American cop to Canadian cop.

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” Ray shrugged.

“Thank you kindly, Toni.” Fraser gave her a polite smile, which put a dreamy look in her eye.

“I'll be out front if you need anything.” she shrugged, her loose, red shirt and black slacks hiding much of her average figure. Ben and Ray got down to business, rolling back the feed and making a copy of the pertinent time periods. Ben studied the camera carefully, trying to identify the mugger, making his face real to him. He wanted to recognize him immediately so that he wouldn't get past him somehow.

“There's that SOB.” Ray hit the pause button on a frame. The time stamp of the credit card hit and the video matched perfectly. The suspect stood approximately six foot two inches, heavy bodied with a slick shaven head wearing jeans, a tee shirt and work boots. The overhead lights gleamed on his pale head.

“What's he driving?” Ben pointed to one of the small screens in the corner of the television. Staring directly down the aisles between the pumps, the camera captured license plate numbers quite well. Ray replayed the suspect arriving at pump number four, the one farthest away from the store. He drove a rusty, limping Oldsmobile with Illinois plates. They watched him walk into the store, choose a beer from the cooler and pre-pay twenty dollars worth of gas, swiping the Inspector's credit card without flinching.

“Okay, let's get this out on the wire, I'll call the station, you make a copy of all this, okay, Fraser?” Ray asked, looking nearly straight up at the Mountie peering intently at the security footage. He asked twice before waving his hand in front of Ben's face. “Earth to Fraser.”

“Hmm, sorry, Ray. From the amount of fuel the suspect purchased and the condition of the car, it isn't in very good mechanical shape, he will have to stop for more fuel soon.” Ben nodded resolutely, his eyes hard as diamonds.

“And when he does, we'll be around to catch him.” Ray stood up and began dialing the Twenty-seventh Precinct.

 _“Perhaps more than catch him.”_ Ben amended silently.

*** 


	4. Reconnection

AN- Inspired by my favorite Reese Witherspoon movie “Just Like Heaven”.

_**The Next Day ….** _

The consulate ceased to hum with activity about six o'clock the day after the Inspector's mugging. Fraser had gone straight from chasing leads with Ray to duty at the consulate. As the deputy liaison, he had to pick up the slack. Diefenbaker took the opportunity to sleep in under the Mountie's desk through the morning. By quitting time, Ben was ready to curl up and take a nap too but decided it would be more effective to visit the Inspector.

Dr. Janet Caldwell, a fresh, young doctor still paying her dues, greeted him at the door. She pushed her wire rimmed glasses up with the back of her hand. It had been a long shift and she was just finishing her rounds. Her burnished, ebony skin glowed in the florescent lighting overhead. She kept her hair short and fuss free.

“How is she, Dr. Caldwell?” Ben held his Stetson in hand, his light eyes searching her face for truth.

“Ms. Thatcher is stable but still unconscious.” Her tone was neutral.

Ben listened intently as she went into more detail, none of which told him when she would wake up

“Is there anything I can do?” Ben asked, knowing the answer.

“Visiting and talking to her is always a good idea.” Dr. Caldwell gave him an encouraging smile.

“Thank you kindly, Doctor.” Ben shook her hand politely.

“You're welcome, Constable.” Dr. Caldwell stepped back out into the hallway to continue her rounds.

Ben took a seat in the hard, plastic chair beside Meg's bedside. He heard snatches of conversations out in the hallways, television programs, and patient buzzers calling for attention. Acidic, poorly disguised disinfectant had recently been used in the room. Not a single get-well card or flower sat in the room.

“I should have stopped and bought you a bouquet before visiting.” Fraser spoke, wondering what her favorite flower would be. “You once said you don't like perfume, perhaps you don't like flowers either.” The Mountie studied his high browns for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“I've never heard of a woman that didn't like flowers.” Robert Fraser's voice spoke from the darkened corner of the hospital room.

“Hello, Dad.” Ben greeted him, lifting his head to see his father. The old man wore his dress uniform, his Stetson cut flat across the back, just the way he'd looked the final time Ben had seen his corporeal body.

Meg looked down to see herself also dressed in full dress reds. “This isn't what I was wearing a moment ago.” She lifted her arms out to see her hands, her nails were also painted a soft, matching red.

“What happened to her, Son?” Robert asked, standing at parade rest at the foot of Meg's bed. The younger officer came to stand beside him, looking down at herself.

“He's been able to see you all this time?” Meg inquired incredulously.

“Yes, he just said hello didn't he?” Robert turned to her.

“Who are you talking to, Dad?” Ben asked, searching the room. Nothing had changed in the slightest.

“Why, the Inspector, Son.” Robert gestured to the woman standing beside him.

“Inspector Thatcher is lying right here, Dad.” Ben stood up, perplexed.

“Yes, she is, but she's also standing beside me.”

Ben walked around the foot of the bed twice before doing a pirouette to look around the room again.

“I think you're confused, Dad, Inspector Thatcher isn't dead, she can't be where you are.” Ben ran a finger behind his ear before pulling on the lobe.

“Well she is, and she won't hush.” Robert Fraser narrowed his eyes at the younger woman.

“I've finally gone over the edge.” Ben shook his head, tapping it against the heel of his hand.

“The Inspector rolled her eyes and called you a moron.” Robert relayed.

Ben heard a peculiar whisper as he stared at his boots again. The voice was familiar but faint.

“Did the Inspector say something else?” Ben peered closer at the space beside his father, trying to imagine Inspector Thatcher standing there. With her lying there in a hospital bed, it was difficult.

“Yes, she's asking what happened, why she's in the hospital.” Robert didn't have to finish, Ben heard Margaret a moment before her image became clear to him.

“She was mugged Saturday afternoon, I found her, ah, you, on my way to the consulate.” Ben addressed her himself, standing at parade rest.

“Have there been any leads, who's on the case?” Meg demanded, going into Inspector mode.

“Detective Vecchio and I are on the case. There's been activity on your credit card, we're in the process of tracking down the thief.” Ben answered calmly.

“Great, I'll have to cancel my card and replace all my identification.” Meg growled, already making a mental to-do list for Turnbull for as soon as she woke up.

“At the moment I'm more concerned with your well being, Sir. Doctors are still determining the reason behind the coma.” Ben informed her.

“Yes, well,” Meg didn't have anything to say. She pulled on the hem of her serge tunic, looking at her body lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and wires.

“Perhaps if you tried to connect your spirit to your body again.” Robert Fraser offered, hoping to get the Inspector out of his Borderland cabin. Ben lifted an approving brow but remained silent.

“It's worth a try.” Meg took a deep breath and sat down beside her body. Slowly, she eased back, her image melting into her flesh. It was a unique feeling, reattaching herself to her body. Meg felt a temperature change and a heaviness in her limbs as she sank farther and farther into her body. When she felt pain, she almost pulled free of her body. Her ribs ached, her mouth was dry and her head felt like an anvil had been dropped on it.

Ben and Robert watched as the monitors began changing, noting her rise in breathing and heart rate. A moment later the Inspector began to cough and thrash in her bed. Ben went out in the hallway to flag down a nurse. Dr. Caldwell and three nurses came rushing into the room.

“I'm sorry, Sir, but you'll have to leave for now, if you'll have a seat in the waiting area someone will come out to speak to you.” one of the nurses herded Ben out the door and down the hallway. Robert Fraser reappeared as soon as the nursed turned to leave.

“How's she doing, Dad?” Ben whispered, looking down the hallway to the open door.

“She'll be fine, she's tough.” Robert shrugged, glad to have Meg out of his hair. He saw the reason behind his son's attraction to her, but since she wasn't Caroline, he didn't really care.

_**Two Hours Later ….** _

Dr. Caldwell came into the waiting room looking tired. Her shift had ended an hour ago, but Meg's awakening had delayed getting home to a bowl of ice cream and a long shower.

“Constable Fraser, she's ready to see you now.” She noted how the Mountie's eyes lit up but his face remained neutral. His eyes betrayed his feelings for the woman.

“What's her prognosis?” Fraser asked. He needed to know to inform Ray and his superiors in Ottawa. They'd already been pressuring Fraser to let them send a replacement. He feared they'd reassign her if they sent someone else. He assured them her absence was temporary and that her recovery would be quick.

“We have more tests to run, but she's on the road to recovery. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your visit short. She needs the rest.” Dr. Caldwell smiled, fiddling with candy papers in her lab coat pockets.

“Thank you, Dr. Caldwell, I will.” Ben walked into the Inspector's room, relief written on his face.

“Inspector Thatcher, how are you feeling?” Fraser stood at the foot of her bed, Stetson tucked under his arm.

“I've been better, Constable Fraser.” Meg's voice sounded harsh and her throat felt raw. She still had an oxygen tube under her nose and a half dozen monitors hooked up.

“I'm pleased to hear that.” What Ben really wondered was if she remembered seeing his father and spending time in Borderland.

“I had the strangest dream while I was out, I woke up in a northern forest, there was a cabin and inside I met your father, at least I think it was him. Somehow we ended up here, in the hospital together. We were both talking to you.” Meg wiped her eyes, her head still pounding despite the pain medication the doctor had given her.

Ben balked at telling her it wasn't a dream. He didn't want to aggravate her recovery in any way.

“The mind is an uncharted territory.” He left his response vague.

“Yes, it is.” Meg agreed, watching Fraser's mask settle into place.

“I should go, the doctor asked that I kept my visit short. Is there anything you need before I go?” Ben offered, expecting a full to-do list.

“No, I'm fine, just tired. I'll see you tomorrow, _after_ you report to the consulate.” Meg coughed after that sentence, making her head hurt worse. Ben poured her a glass of ice water and handed it to her, his brows drawn together in concern.

“Thank you, Constable, dismissed.” Meg relieved him of duty before laying back against the raised head of the bed.

“Good night, Sir.” Fraser nodded to her and exited the hospital room. He had a dozen things to do anyway.

****

 


	5. Bad Dream

_**Bad Dream ….** _

Meg lay on her back, trying to sleep. Despite the pain meds, she wasn't comfortable. As she shifted onto her side, the Inspector saw a white shape at the foot of her bed. It took a second to focus. When her vision cleared, Meg saw a young woman with a neat bun behind an old fashioned nurse's cap. She wore a white dress with puff sleeves and thick, white shoes. Her beautiful face had such a confused expression, especially in her large, doe eyes. Their eyes met for a moment and locked. The sound of the door opening pulled Meg's gaze away. When she looked back the out of place nurse had disappeared.

“Good, you're already awake.” a cheerful, older nurse greeted Meg. She wore rectangular glasses and flower print scrubs.

“Ah, did someone else come in here with you?” Meg swallowed, her throat still raw.

“Nope.” the older nurse shook her head, salt and pepper strands cut into a short, fashionable hairstyle around her thin face.

“I thought,” Meg tried to recall if the young woman had worn a name tag. “perhaps it was a student.”

“There aren't any student nurses on this floor tonight. Is everything alright?” the older nurse peered more closely at Meg before picking up her chart. She began to nod when she saw the list of medicines they'd given her earlier.

“I guess I was dreaming.” Meg took a deep, calming breath, leaning back against the head of the bed.

“Yes, pain meds will do that.” the nurse began taking Meg's vitals; listening to her heart, taking her pulse and temperature. When she finished, she asked if there was anything her charge needed.

“No, I'm fine, I just need to rest.” Meg pasted on a diplomatic smile. She wasn't so sure the pain medication had caused what she'd seen. It didn't explain the dream she's had of standing at the foot of her own hospital bed with Fraser and his father. Meg could still see the small cabin Robert had called Borderland.

“I've suffered a major head injury and I'm on strong pain medication, everything is fine.” Meg told herself as she turned on the television to distract herself.

_**Twenty-seventh Precinct ….** _

Fraser had stopped in at the consulate shortly after six and left Turnbull a note. The Mountie and Diefenbaker had walked, enjoying the coolest part of the day while they could. Ben bought them each a bear claw, and himself a large cup of tea. He walked into the bull pen a little after seven. The scent of humanity filled his nostrils. Chicago was definitely better smelling during the winter freeze over. Sweat, bad cologne and cigars permeated the space.

“Hello, Fraser.” Elaine greeted him with practiced insouciance. The Mountie noted the way her eyes widened and her voice rose a fraction. She couldn't hide her attraction to him but she didn't make as much fuss over him as most women, thankfully.

“Good morning, Elaine, has Detective Vecchio arrived yet?” Fraser paused, keeping Dief in the corner of his eye. The wolf went from desk to desk, begging for sweets.

“Yes, he's in Welsh's office, the door's open, that's a good sign.” Elaine pointed one finger toward the Lieutenant's office.

“Thank you kindly, Elaine.” Fraser nodded before turning to leave.

“You're welcome, Fraser.” the dark skinned beauty watched him leave.

Fraser rapped on the door frame to announce his presence.

“Good morning, Constable, what brings you here so early?” Lt. Welsh waved him inside with one, beefy hand.

“I came to update Detective Vecchio on the Inspector's improving health. She awoke late yesterday evening. I'm on my way to visit right now.” Fraser delivered the report as succinctly as possible.

“Great, think she'd be up for questions?” Ray asked, relieved to hear she'd woken up. That meant this case would be out of his hair sooner.

“I'm not certain, Ray, the Inspector has been prescribed heavy pain medication.” Fraser answered truthfully.

“Detective, why don't you take the Constable here down to the hospital and see about Inspector Thatcher for yourself.” Welsh recommended. He didn't want the Canadians to think he wasn't doing his best work on this case.

“Will do, Sir, I'm on my way right now.” Ray turned and left the office.

“Thank you, Leftenant.” Fraser nodded briefly before turning to leave as well. He and Dief caught up to Ray at the Riviera.

“Here we go, into the dragon's lair.” Ray groused, sliding into the emerald green classic.

“Ray.” Fraser growled, “I know that the Inspector isn't your favorite person, but she has been the victim of a viscous mugging. If I hadn't found her this would be a murder investigation.” the Mountie reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm glad she's okay. Let's go see what she can remember.” the detective fired up the engine and backed out of the parking space.

_**Room 203 ….** _

Meg hoped the knock on the door was Fraser coming to visit. She desperately wanted good coffee and a breakfast bagel. She'd had enough hospital food.

“Come in.” she croaked.

The door opened and in walked her favorite Mountie and her least favorite American detective.

“Good morning, Inspector.” Fraser greeted her, taking his Stetson off and laying it on the window sill.

“Hello, Constable Fraser, Detective.” Meg pulled the hospital blanket up closer to her chest.

“Is there anything that I can get for you, Sir?” Fraser knew the answer already. Meg dispatched him with her breakfast order almost before he finished speaking.

After Fraser exited the room, it left Meg and the Detective alone together. They stared at each other for a moment, sizing up opponents. Ray looked away first.

“Do you have any updates on the case, have you arrested the thief yet?” Meg spoke first, getting down to business. Her dark eyes narrowed and surveyed the detective critically.

“No, no arrests yet, but we have a print out of his face in every cruiser in the state.” Ray informed her calmly.

“From security camera footage?” Meg asked.

“Yeah, a gas station along the highway.” Ray answered, feeling ill at ease.

“I assume the vehicle's license plate came back for a stolen car.” The Inspector pushed a strand of dark hair behind one ear, her eyes finally shifting away from Ray.

“Yeah, the thief hit the car's owner over the head and took his keys outside a convenience store two weeks ago. The victim never saw his face.” Ray referred to his notebook just to avoid eye contact.

“The thief is escalating his crimes, the next time he robs someone there will most likely be a fatality.”

Ray hid his new found respect for the sour Canadian well. She'd put the pattern together quicker than Fraser. Of course Fraser was distracted and the Inspector was personally motivated.

“Yeah, I was hoping you'd be able to give us a better description of this guy, the security camera footage is grainy.” Ray and Meg's gazes both turned to the tap on the door a moment before Fraser let himself inside.

“I'm sorry for the delay, here is your coffee and bagel, Sir.” Fraser set a cup container and a brown paper bag on the rolling tray at the side of Meg's bed. He'd even remembered to bring paper napkins.

“Thank you, Constable. Hospital food is deplorable.” That was one statement that all three could agree on.

“I'll send a sketch artist by this afternoon, Inspector.” Ray informed her as she bit into a bacon and cream cheese laden bagel. Meg simply nodded, not really caring.

“The assailant was about Fraser's height but stockier built, muscular, he had dark, thinning, slicked back hair pulled into a short ponytail. His eyes were dark, I'm not certain of their color. His hands were square and calloused as well as greasy. I would say he works in mechanics, cars, trucks, boats maybe. He wore a gray, sleeveless shirt, light colored denim jeans and black boots of some kind. I didn't see any scars or tattoos. He came at me from the side, grabbed me around the shoulders, forced me toward the alley and hit me on the head. I didn't have time to fight back.” Meg felt her attacker's hot breath on the side of her face again and shuddered.

“You have a keen memory, Inspector.” Ben wanted to sit down on the side of the bed, take her hand and tell her everything would be alright. Nothing about that urge was appropriate.

“Hind sight is 20/20.” Meg agreed bitterly, her head throbbing and her throat protesting all the talking she'd done.

A tap at the door brought the conversation to an end. Dr. Caldwell and an understudy walked timidly into the room.

“Good morning, Mrs. Thatcher, Constable Fraser.” Dr. Caldwell looked from her patient to the red clad officer at the foot of her bed.

“Dr. Caldwell, this is Detective Vecchio, he's handling the mugging case.” Fraser introduced Ray quickly. The doctor introduced her intern but no one really paid the fresh faced student much attention.

“A little harder blow to the head and it would be a murder investigation. Mrs. Thatcher is very luck.” the doctor looked from Meg finishing her bagel to the slouching detective. For a second Ray thought he saw an _'I told you so'_ expression on Fraser's face.

“I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you gentlemen to step outside, just until I'm finished with Mrs. Thatcher.” Dr. Caldwell gave them an apologetic smile as she hitched her thumb toward the door.

“They were just on their way anyway, Doctor.” Meg had finished her breakfast and sat brushing crumbs off her gown.

“Yeah, we were headin' out.” Ray started edging toward the door, Fraser following him.

“You have Ray's cellular phone number should you need me, Inspector.” Fraser pointed toward a slip of paper he'd left on the nightstand. Thatcher shooed him out the door with one hand and an annoyed glare.

****

 

 


	6. Did You Forget Something, Dear?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's more in Meg's closet than Gucci.

_**One Week Later ….** _

Meg let Fraser help her into the consulate car from the hospital wheelchair. She felt anxious to be out and back to her apartment. A week of waking up to a mystery nurse at the foot of her bed had been enough. Meg didn't know whether to ask someone about the figure or pretend she'd never seen it. She didn't want to delay her release in any way.

“Is there anything you need before I escort you to your apartment, Sir?” Fraser asked after sliding behind the wheel of the compact car.

“She doesn't need anything but space, Son, just drive her home.” Robert Fraser volunteered.

Despite protests from her ribs and head, Meg whirled around to see who'd spoken from the back seat. When she turned so did Fraser.

“Is something amiss, Inspector?” Ben saw his father out of the corner of his eye.

Meg looked from Robert Fraser to his son. They had the same, clear, intelligent blue eyes.

“I've seen you before, while I was in a coma, in Borderland.” Meg spoke before thinking. What if she were the only one who could see the sergeant in the back seat?

“Borderland, Sir?” Fraser looked from his boss to his father.

“Yes, Son, the cabin, on the other side of your closet door.” Robert answered, exasperated with his son's denseness.

“You can see the Sergeant too?” Meg cocked her head, narrowing her eyes at Fraser.

“Yes, he's my father.” He didn't know what else to say so he didn't say anything.

“How long have you been able to see your father, Fraser?” Meg lifted one brow, her cherry lips pursed.

“Since shortly after his death.” Fraser began running his thumb nail over his eye brow.

“Well, that certainly does explain a lot.” Meg muttered, sitting back against the seat. She laid one of her manicured hands along her forehead: a persistent, dull ache flaring up.   
“Take me home, Constable, I'd like to rest before going to work tomorrow.” Meg closed her eyes, wishing her life were simpler.

“Yes, Sir, we're on our way.” The Mountie pulled smoothly but slowly into traffic, checking all the car's mirrors, turning and then signaling. By the time they'd driven two car lengths both Meg and Robert were ready to get out and walk. With Fraser driving it took them forever to get across town. Stopping and starting only made Meg's head hurt worse.

“In the name of all things Canadian, do you even know how to drive a vehicle, Fraser?” Meg growled through gritted teeth.

“I tried to teach him, he drives just like his grandmother.” Robert Fraser shook his head as he sat in the back seat.

“Let me guess, he read a driver's education manual and taught himself.” Meg turned to the older man.

“Exactly. He can drive a dogsled team across country, or a snowmobile, I don't know what the problem is.”

“Dad, you aren't helping.” his father he could fuss at, his boss was another matter.

“Fraser, there's a spot.” Meg pointed to a line of spaces along the front of the building. Quickly, the Mountie pulled the consulate car into the nearest spot. He rushed around the car to open Meg's door but she'd already stepped out and closed the door.

“Allow me to collect your belongings bag for you, Sir.” Fraser opened the back door and pulled out the white, plastic bag with Meg's things inside.

“I'm capable of carrying it, Fraser.” Meg took the bag from him.

“I wasn't implying you weren't, Sir, I thought you might need a free hand to unlock your door.” the Mountie's voice betrayed his injured pride.

“Here, carry it, Fraser.” Meg handed it back to him. A pleased twinkle shone in his eyes.

 _“I have a plethora of questions for your father.”_ Meg thought to herself as she followed him through the front door the four story building where she lived.

Meg called a second floor apartment home. She lived along the back of the rectangular building. There wasn't much of a view, but it's proximity to the consulate and downtown were a selling point for the lady Mountie. She opened the door to her one bedroom sanctuary and stepped inside.

Fraser followed her hesitantly. He'd never been inside the apartment, only ever knocking and waiting for her. Robert waltzed inside as if he owned the place. Looking around, he surveyed the interior design with a critical eye. He much preferred his Borderland cabin to her lined, off white wallpaper and bland furniture.

“I'll take my bag now, Fraser.” Meg held out her hand to take the small, plastic bag.

“Yes, Sir.” He handed it over, watching his father walking around the living room, then heading to the kitchen.

“I'll see you at the consulate in the morning.” the lady Mountie tried to shoo him out as gently as possible.

“Do you need anything before I return to the consulate, Inspector?” Fraser asked, studying her. She seemed paler and smaller somehow.

“I'm fine, just go back to work, Fraser,” Meg stood her ground in the middle of the living room. “and take your father with you, please.” she motioned to the red serge clad figure perusing her bookcase.

“Yes, Sir.” Fraser nodded. He wondered at his father's silence. The old man had a tendency to express his opinion freely.

“Come on, Dad, we've over stayed our welcome.” he said quietly.

“Yes, well, I have other pressing engagements.” the elder Fraser's tone dripped with sarcasm. Together, they walked out of Meg's apartment and down the hall. Halfway down the hall Robert Fraser stopped and turned on his heel.

“What's wrong, Dad?” Ben halted, his Stetson in hand as he peered back at his father.

“It's nothing.” the older man shook his white head then looked genially up at his son.

***

Meg took her belongings bag and walked into her spacious bedroom. Against the far wall sat her queen sized bed and matching dresser. To the right her walk-in closet door stood open. She distinctly remembered shutting it before leaving for the consulate. Of course that had been before a blow to the head. She dismissed the open door and stepped into the closet. Clothes hung on either side of her as she pushed on toward the back storage space. She laid what clothes she hadn't had to throw away in her dirty clothes hamper. She'd had to throw away her tee shirt and khakis.

“Have you lost something, Dear?” A middle aged woman's voice asked from the closet entrance. Meg whirled around, a scream escaping her throat. In the door way stood a plump woman with graying hair and 1980's, tinted owl glasses. A ligature mark ringed her chubby neck. She wore a paisley print house dress and slippers on her square, swollen feet.

“Who, who are you?” Meg stammered, clutching the belongings bag as if it would protect her. The woman faded away before her eyes, a sad expression on her face lingering in Meg's memory. The lady Mountie sank to the carpeted floor, still holding the plastic bag.

“I can't do this.” Meg said aloud, her hands shaking. “I can not see dead people.” She shook her head, trying to loosen the image.

After a few minutes processing what she'd just seen, Meg stood up and made her way out of her bedroom. She stopped every few feet along the way, wondering if anyone lingered in the shadows. The ghost's appearance explained the open closet door.

“She must have hung herself in the closet.” Meg sat down on the sofa and turned on the television for distraction. A perky weather girl droned on about a heat wave covering the mid west for the next few days. Meg felt chilled to the bone. She had a thousand questions and didn't know where to find the answers. Was she seeing ghosts because of the head trauma or the coma? Would it ever go away? Did Fraser see more ghosts than just his father? The questions circled around in her brain for hours.

***

 


	7. Disappearances

_**Monday Morning ….** _

Meg wore slacks and a blouse to work. Her ribs still ached, as did her head. She'd had a constant headache since waking up in the hospital, regardless of the pain medication the doctors had given her. She laid if off on stress.

Detective Vecchio and Fraser were still on the case. The assailant had dumped the stolen car he'd purchased gas for. The investigators deduced that he'd most likely stolen another car. They combed through all the mugging case files for the last six months for similar cases. So far they hadn't turned up anything.

The Inspector walked slowly down the hallway toward her office, briefcase in one hand and a coffee in the other. Despite doctors' orders, she'd chosen to come back to work, at least half the day. Meg hadn't slept well at all. The older woman hadn't shown up again but Meg couldn't get her out of her mind. Between the ghosts and the ongoing case, the Inspector's had a full plate.

“Good morning, Sir. How are you feeling this morning?” Fraser asked when he got to within arm's length of her. His keen blue eyes examined her closely. Meg wondered if she'd managed to cover the dark circles and bags round her eyes with make-up.

“I'm well, thank you.” Meg answered shortly. She held onto her facade tighter than ever. Fraser already knew that she saw his father's ghost, what would he say if he knew she'd seen two others?

“I see that your ribs are still giving your trouble.” Ben had had more than his fair share of injuries, he knew the posture.

“Yes, the doctor said they'll be sore and bruised for the next several weeks.” Meg sipped her coffee, trying to avoid eye contact with her subordinate officer. Fraser's intuition spooked her at times.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Sir?” Ben asked, wishing he could express what he wanted to say. He hated to see her in any kind of pain.

“No, I'm fine.” Meg answered stiffly. She wanted to ask Fraser all the questions that had kept her awake through the night. Making herself was another story.

“Fraser,” Meg began, pushing herself.

“Yes, Sir?” Ben stood stock still, wondering at the pained look on her face. Her brows drew together and she seemed to be holding her breath.

“Fraser,” she paused. “I'll only be here until after lunch.” Mentally, she kicked herself for retreating into work.

“Understood.” Ben answered, his head cocked slightly to the left.

Meg walked into her office, still angry with herself.

“What's wrong with me, Fraser would understand this sort of thing.” she muttered to herself.

“Benton never was one to believe in the supernatural, at least until lately.” Robert Fraser's voice startled the younger woman.

“Damn it!” she hissed as he stepped out of the shadows behind her desk. “Don't do that!”

“Sorry, I forget that you can see me.” Robert looked at her sheepishly. He wore his dress reds, hands behind his back. “What were you saying about Benton understanding something?” the older Mountie redirected the conversation.

“What business is it of yours?” Meg demanded indignantly, popping her fist holding her brief case on her hip

“None I suppose.” the Mountie shrugged. His sparkling blue eyes beneath thick, white brows peered at her as if he knew something she didn't and wasn't going to tell.

“Then I suggest you exit my office, I have a week's worth of paperwork to catch up on.” Meg hitched her coffee cup toward the door behind her.

“Sheesh, only two people in the whole world can see me and neither of them will make time for a friendly chat.” Robert Fraser shook his head as he turned to walk out the door.

Meg had settled into her desk chair and gotten comfortable when she heard a tap at the door.

“Come in.” she called, her ribs reminding her not to breathe deeply. Fraser stepped through the door. His brows knit in silent concern at the perspiration on her forehead and the pain in her eyes. She'd come back to work too soon and they both knew it.

“Sir, Ray called and he would like you to come for a line up, if you feel up to it.” he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the only way he could keep himself from reaching out to offer comfort.

“I always feel up to putting a criminal behind bars, Constable.” Meg slid herself backwards then eased to standing. She grabbed her purse from the coat tree and lead the way to the consulate car. It wasn't exactly consulate business but she'd write the miles off somehow.

_**The Twenty-seventh Precinct ….** _

Ray stood in the small room on the other side of the one way glass waiting when they arrived. He brushed lint off of his dark, pleated front slacks. Of the eight guys standing against the wall, Meg recognized seven of them as officers she'd seen around the precinct on the rare occasions she'd had to visit. None of the other three were the perpetrator.

“None of these is the man who mugged me, number three could be his brother but his eyes are wrong.” Meg shook her head, disappointed and angry.

“Damn.” Ray hissed to himself. He knew the Inspector's prediction of the next victim's death would come true.

“I had hoped the suspect would be in the line up as well Detective Vecchio.” Meg shook her head slowly. Every day that monster roamed the city the more likely he would kill someone.

“I've been going over the most recent carjackings and thefts, so far none of them match our suspect's M.O.” Fraser added gravely.

“Ah, he's probably skipped the state by now.” Ray ran his hand over his face, wishing he could wipe away the sick feeling he had in his stomach.

“Elaine has alerted neighboring states with the suspect's description.” Fraser added hopefully. He'd spent hours looking over reports of stolen cars, convenience store robberies and muggings. He couldn't get the image of Meg lying on her back behind the dumpster to leave him alone. The Mountie had to find this guy, to put him behind bars.

“The Yank doesn't know what he's doing.” Robert Fraser's voice interrupted Ben's thoughts. He hung his head before looking around. The Inspector was staring back at him.

“Will you excuse us, Detective, I need to have a word with Constable Fraser.” Meg headed toward the door, Fraser and Robert on her heels. She stopped in the hallway outside the lineup room.

“Must you always show up like that?” Meg hissed at the older officer, her dark eyes blazing.

“Listen here, you may out rank me but you should respect ...”

“Dad, the Inspector has a point, it is difficult to carry on a conversation with a ghost without unnecessary attention.” Ben packed up Meg's complaint.

A beat cop walked by the Canadians, staring at them as they stared into space, talking to someone or something he couldn't see. He shook his head as he went on his way toward the restroom. He'd heard the Canadians were different, he just didn't know how different.

Meg began rubbing her head, wishing the incessant headache would leave her alone. A skull fracture couldn't last this long, could it? She felt so old and tired suddenly.

“Should I tell Ray that we're leaving, Sir?” Fraser's voice brought Meg out of her pain.

“Yes, thank you, Constable.” she met his concerned gaze, the only one he fixed her with lately. Did she look that bad?

“I'll be back momentarily.” Fraser stepped back into the room to speak to Ray a moment, leaving Meg and his father together.

“I see that you don't like the Yank either, that's a relief.” Robert Fraser broke the silence between them.

“Detective Vecchio is a good detective, it's his personality that I'm not overly fond of.” Meg answered, rubbing her temples. “Fraser speaks highly of him though.”

“Benton has always been a good judge of character.” Robert looked thoughtfully down at his high browns.

“Sir, I'll bring the car around if you're ready to leave.” Fraser interrupted.

“Very well, Constable, I'll be at the entrance waiting.” Meg dismissed him, weary to the bone.

A few minutes later she was on her way back to the consulate. Robert Fraser had followed the younger Mounties and rode in the back seat, watching the scenery.

“Take me to my apartment, my head is killing me.” Meg ordered from the passenger seat. Fraser changed course and headed toward her apartment building.

“Have you taken your pain medication today, Sir?” He asked quietly, taking side streets to navigate traffic more quickly and smoothly.

“I don't need it, it's just a headache, I've taken extra strength acetaminophen already this morning.” Meg answered tensely. She felt as if her fractured skull were being pulled apart like a melon.

“Fraser, Stop, you'll hit him!” She screamed when they eased through a cross walk. The car came to a lurching stop in the middle of the empty street. Other drivers began honking their horns. Meg threw open her car door and rushed around the front of the consulate car. All she saw was stained, faded pavement. Empty sidewalks and an empty street lay around her in every direction.

“Sir, have you seen another apparition?” Fraser stood beside her, peering at her. She met his gaze and watched him watch her for any sign of trauma.

“I did, it was a young man, fifteen maybe, he wore a pair of black and white Converse shoes, jeans and a yellow and brown striped shirt, his hair was average brown and cut short, like yours.” Meg clasped her hands to keep them from shaking. If they shook on the outside as badly as she shook on the inside, they'd rattle off her wrists.

“The younger generation doesn't wear that sort of outfit these days, perhaps it was someone from the fifties or earlier.” Fraser theorized, scratching his brow with his left thumbnail.

“Hey, buddy, are you stalled or somethin'? It's too hot to sit here.” a delivery truck driver shouted from his cab window.

“We're sorry for the inconvenience.” Fraser took Meg by the elbow and helped her into the car before getting in himself.

“I thought we'd hit someone, you wouldn't hit anyone, you're too careful.” Meg said to herself, not really realizing she'd said anything aloud.

Fraser couldn't imagine what she was going through. The only ghost he'd seen was his father.

“Where is your father, I haven't heard him in a block or two.” Meg wondered, running her fingers through her dark hair. Perspiration dampened it as she pushed it away from her face. She would be glad to see her now cool apartment and comfortable bed.

Fraser checked the rear view mirror before answering, “He disappears without a word sometimes, it's quite a relief.” from the corner of his eye he saw a small smile pull at the corner of Meg's lips.

“I've heard he was a legendary officer.” she commented, rubbing her temples. “The last of a breed.”

“He was an exemplary officer, there are few officers of his caliber in any force.” Ben agreed, thinking back to his first few years with the Force. He'd had big shoes to fill and a day hadn't gone by that someone hadn't said, 'There's Bob Fraser's son'. It had taken a while before people recognized him for his own merit.

“Some would say that there are few officers of your caliber on any force.” Meg's voice was neutral, making Ben wonder if it were a left handed compliment or an insult. The woman perplexed him to no end.

Fraser parked the consulate car in the two story parking garage beside Meg's building. He escorted her to the apartment door. She pulled her keys from her purse and began fumbling with them. He watched her blink and feel of the keys.

“Here, it's the one with the red rubber ring.” Finally, she handed them to Fraser. He found the key on the first try and had the door open in a moment.

“Is there anything I can get for you, Sir?” Fraser offered, not knowing what to do or what she wanted him to do. He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to lead her to bed and tuck her in with a cup of calming tea and her pain medication.

“No, I'm just going to rest for the rest of the day, try it again tomorrow.” Meg hung her purse on the back of a kitchen chair and shuffled toward the refrigerator.

“Very well, Inspector, I'll be a the consulate should you need anything.” the Mountie turned to leave reluctantly.

“Please keep Turnbull from burning the place down won't you.” she turned back to him, a glass of iced tea in hand.

“Yes, Sir.” he let an amused smile pull at the corner of his lips as he played with the buckle on his Stetson.

Meg watched Fraser walk out the door and close it behind him.

“He's concerned for you you know.” Robert Fraser's voice behind Meg didn't startle her.

“Yes, I know, I'm concerned about me too.” Meg answered, sipping her tea.

“He doesn't look at the Civilian Aide or the detective's sister with concern, he doesn't have to be concerned about you.” Robert Fraser supplied nonchalantly. He'd disappeared before Meg could turn to respond.

Fraser was right, his disappearances were a relief, especially when he was right about something.

***

 


	8. Research

_**Tuesday Morning ….** _

Fraser and Dief walked to the consulate along their usual, Tuesday path. The old wolf sniffed each tree and trash can along the way. Fraser had the opportunity to think about Inspector Thatcher as he walked. He'd never known her to give into a headache before. Though a skull fracture was far different from eye strain. He'd never known her to take a sick day or personal day for anything. She'd worked through colds, flu, upper respiratory infections and at least one yeast infection.

The Mountie and wolf arrived at the consulate a few minutes early. They walked in after unlocking the door, Dief's nails clicking on the hardwood flooring. Ben thought to himself that he was going to have to trim them.

“Who's there?” the Inspector's voice called out from her office.

“It's Diefenbaker and myself, Sir.” Fraser hurried to her door. She wore the same clothing she'd worn the day before. Her make-up had worn off and her hair had been finger raked often since he'd seen her last.

“Oh, Constable Fraser, good morning.” she sounded relieved to see him.

“Good morning, Sir, is something the matter?” Ben stood at her desk, his Stetson still sitting on his head.

“I, no, nothing is wrong.” she avoided eye contact, her hands on her hips as she stood behind her desk. Her desk lamp was the only illumination in the room.

“Lying is unbecoming of an officer, Inspector.” Robert Fraser stepped out of the shadows to the left of Meg's desk.

“How do you get rid of him, Fraser?” Meg gestured with her hands at the older man grinning like a conniving school boy.

“She's been here all night.” Robert announced, enjoying his new found target. Benton had become too predictable.

Meg sat down at her desk, head in her hands. After a long, tired sigh, she spoke up, “I've been researching the ghosts I've seen, beginning with the one in the hospital.” she pointed to a stack of print outs lying on her desk blotter.

Fraser helped himself to the print outs. The first was of a young woman wearing a nursing uniform from the early sixties. She smiled sweetly in the black and white photograph.

“Phyllis Parker, twenty-two, a newlywed with a fifteen month old son, she died of a brain aneurism at the hospital while on the night shift.” Meg summarized the information accompanying the picture.

The second picture was of an older woman and her husband, both of them corpulent. They held hands and leaned toward each other in the color picture.

“That's Mildred Thompson and her husband Carl, she was a forty-six year old housewife who died in my closet, her husband where my kitchen table stands, both were killed during a home invasion by a group of teenagers. Only four of the five were caught. That was seventeen years after Phyllis Parker's death.” Meg sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“The last one is Jimmy Glassberg, he was hit by a car six months after the Thompsons were killed in my apartment, they never found the driver. He was on his way to a theater down the street for a play rehearsal of _Grease_.” the tired, lady Mountie massaged the bridge of her nose, tired from squinting. She'd left her reading glasses on the night stand beside her bed. “ _I knew I should have bought a spare pair.”_ she thought to herself.

“Have you found any links between these people?” Fraser skimmed the files for himself before laying them back down on the desk. Dief eased around the desk and sat beside Meg, laying his head on her knee. Absently, she rubbed his head.

“No, but my instincts tell me there is one, somehow I feel that they're linked to me as well.” she shrugged, still petting Dief.

“May I have Detective Vecchio take a look at these, Sir, perhaps he has more detailed files at the precinct.” Fraser asked, noting the dark circles under Meg's eyes and the coffee cup indention on her desk blotter. She usually used a coaster.

“I don't want him to know that I'm seeing ghosts, Fraser, that would put the whole investigation in jeopardy.” Meg leaned forward, her dark eyes shining with determination.

“I'll be discreet, Sir, you have my word.” Fraser moved to pick up the slim sheaf of papers when Meg's hand snaked out and landed on them with a determined thud.

“He mustn't know, Fraser, I have a hard enough time maintaining my authority in diplomatic circles without him gossiping that I see ghosts.” her voice wavered on the last word, her dark eyes pleading.

“You have my word, Inspector Thatcher, I won't divulge that information.” he met her gaze, his blue eyes earnest. Ben just wanted to ease her mind somehow.

“Thank you.” she sat back against the chair, her shoulders slumped and her face pale.

“Perhaps a short rest in the Princess Margaret Suite would be advisable, Inspector.” Fraser worded the suggestion as delicately as possible.

“Yes, perhaps just this once.” Meg took a deep breath, trying to stifle a yawn.

Fraser hoped she slept well. He suspected she hadn't been sleeping much since waking from the coma.

“Are you coming, Dad?” Ben asked his father who stood staring out the window at the birds flitting from place to place.

“Hmm, oh, yes.” the older Mountie followed his son out the door, along with Dief. Somewhere between the Inspector's office and the front door, he disappeared.

_**The Twenty-seventh Precinct ….** _

“Yes, Ma, I'll bring the oregano, fresh, just like you want it.” Ray whined into his cell phone. He looked up from the grocery list written on the back of a store receipt. “Ma, listen, I gotta go, Fraser's got that look on his face again.” he turned the phone off and leaned back in his desk chair.

“Good morning, Ray.” Fraser took off his Stetson and hung it on the coat tree near the desk.

“Hello, Fraser, what's up?” The Italian detective asked, his hands laced across the beginnings of a slight paunch.

“I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you,” Ray nodded, sitting his chair up right. “Would you pull the files for these people, they may or may not be connected to the Inspector's assault.” Fraser handed him the sheaf of papers.

“Sure, why not, I don't have thirteen other cases to solve today.” Ray began typing the first name into the police database.

“How'd you get these names, Fraser, they seem kind of far fetched, even for you.” Ray asked, not really caring.

“I'm obliged not to say, Ray.” the Mountie met his gaze, his blue eyes earnest. There was only one reason Ray could think of that would keep him from volunteering the information.

“Okay, just so it doesn't compromise the investigation.” He shrugged and dove back into the database.

“Here we go, Phyllis Parker, died of natural causes, left behind one husband and one son, Austin Parker.” Ray rattled off the information, watching Fraser from the corner of his eye. The Mountie seemed unfazed.

“Next is the Thompsons, killed during a home invasion, four of the teenagers were caught, they named a fourth suspect, one, well, look here,” Fraser came around the desk to peer over his partner's shoulder.

“Austin Parker, seventeen, questioned but he provided an alibi for the time of the murders.” Fraser frowned, his brain working at lightning speed.

“How does this connect to this kid?” Ray held up the picture of Jimmy Glassberg.

“I'm not certain yet, perhaps Austin Parker was the driver or Jimmy knew something about the Thompson murders.” Fraser theorized.

“How's that tie in with the Inspector's mugging?” Ray asked good questions that Fraser wished he could answer.

“I haven't the foggiest idea, Ray.” the Mountie shook his head, looking into the distance.

“Let's see what Mr. Parker is up to these days, shall we.” Ray turned back to his computer, typing slowly. The most recent picture at the top, left hand corner showed a long haired, bearded man with dark, narrow eyes.

“Armed robbery, grand theft auto and indecent exposure, it seems Mr. Parker urinated all over his boss' new Corvette.” The list of offenses went on for a quarter page. Fraser skipped the details.

“He's a bad one, but he doesn't match the Inspector's description.” Ray sighed, he'd hoped this would break the case.

“Pull up his mug shots from previous arrests, Ray.” Fraser stared at the photo, trying to mentally overlay the grainy security camera image against Austin Parker's recent mug shot.

“Here goes.” Ray used the mouse to pick out individual cases and arrests for the suspect. The first mug shot from his teen years very much resembled the security camera image.

“You're getting good at those hunches, Fraser.” Ray complimented him. The detective printed out Parker's first mug shot and his most recent. He'd aged, the soft, boyish features transforming into hard lines and crags.

“I'll show these to the Inspector in a photo line up, perhaps she can positively identify him.” Fraser hoped she could, he wanted to put the man responsible for her trauma in jail, (or a body cast).

***


	9. 9 Hot off the Press

_**The Consulate ….** _

Meg lay on the leather sofa in her office to nap. She'd given Turnbull strict, do not disturb instructions. If he wasn't bleeding when he woke her, he would be afterward. The junior Mountie nodded his understanding and exited the office gladly. As she lay against the arm of the sofa, Meg heard Turnbull and Fraser's quiet voices in the hallway.

“There's no rest for the wicked.” Meg muttered to herself as she rose again and walked into the hallway.

The two constables stood tall and proud in the middle of the hardwood floor in conference. Diefenbaker sat on his haunches beside his human, looking from Fraser to the really weird human.

“Please tell me this disruption is relevant to the mugging case.” Inspector Thatcher spoke, her voice rough.

“Yes, Sir, it is, Detective Vecchio and I believe we've identified the suspect. We'd like you to come down to the precinct and look at a photo line up.” Fraser informed her, trying to subtly study her. Without make-up, she seemed softer, more natural and beautiful. Ben wanted to take the haunted look from her dark eyes. Her impossibly thick, dark lashes framed them perfectly. He almost didn't hear her answer.

“I'll get my purse, I should swing by my apartment before I go as well.” Inspector Thatcher turned to walk back into her office.

“I'll fetch the consulate car.” Fraser seated his Stetson on his head and turned to leave. Diefenbaker followed, enjoying being on the go.

A few minutes later Margaret stepped into a comfortably cool car on her way to the Twenty-seventh Precinct. Fraser had started the air conditioner for her. Diefenbaker sat in the floor board of the front passenger seat. From somewhere, Meg smelled fresh cut cedar.

“Where did you get that air freshener, Constable Fraser?” Meg asked, enjoying the clean, natural scent.

“The city recently cut a stand of cedars while clearing right of way, I asked if I could take a few limbs. They make wonderful deodorizers, especially in this heat.” he held up a potpourri bag with cedar chips inside.

“I'll have to remember that.” Meg filed it away in her memory.

“It smells like my mother's house in here.” Robert Fraser added from his place on the backseat beside Margaret. All eyes turned to him. Dief poked his nose between the seats, Fraser looked at him in the rear view mirror and Meg turned to the old man's ghost.

“Where are we going?” Robert asked, unconcerned at the stares.

“To the Twenty-seventh Precinct, Dad, Inspector Thatcher is going to identify the suspect in a photo line up.” Fraser repeated himself, trying not to give his resentment away.

Margaret waited for the elder Fraser to say something but he didn't. Robert and Ben began bickering about Ben's driving. Meg could have sworn she saw Diefenbaker roll his eyes and shake his head at them. She kept silent, thinking she was too tired to know for sure what she'd seen. A constant migraine she'd had for two weeks didn't help.

_**Meg's Apartment ….** _

Meg directed Fraser to the parking outside her building. She hesitated going to her apartment alone. With a deep breath and a silent prayer, she opened the back door and stepped out. Dief and Fraser stood waiting for her.

“I don't need a babysitter, Fraser.” Meg turned to him, her dark eyes steady.

Fraser's mouth opened to protest then promptly closed again. He began to rake his left thumb nail across the same brow.

“Ugg, come on, Constable, you've already gotten out of the car.” Meg took off toward the apartment building door. Fraser had to jog to get there ahead of her. He opened the door and followed her inside. Diefenbaker wasn't so mannerly. He trotted in ahead of the lady Mountie.

At her door, Meg unlocked the door and allowed the wolf inside. Let the ghosts worry the wolf first.

Meg turned to see Fraser standing uncertainly on her welcome mat. She was going to change and he didn't want to be anywhere nearby. She wasn't sure if she wanted him nearby. If he had to be around, she wanted him in her bedroom and at her mercy. The thought made Meg blush.

“Have a seat and I'll be out in a moment.” Meg pointed toward the sofa, a long, dark blue velvet affair with a matching arm chair.

Hesitantly, he complied, perching on the edge closest to the door. The whole apartment smelled like her, like rushing wilderness air and a box car full of horses and hay. Intoxicated, Ben had to remind himself that she outranked him and had forbidden him to remember certain events.

“The memory is a funny thing, Son, it can lie to you, cripple you even.” Robert Fraser sat beside his son on the sofa. Legs crossed, he sat far more comfortably than the younger Mountie.

Fraser turned to look at his father, incredulous. The older man studied his nails, as calm as blue a summer sky.

“What is that supposed to mean, Dad?” Fraser demanded quietly.

“It means you're not the only one who remembers the train, Son.” Robert answered, meeting his son's gaze. His light blue eyes radiated wisdom and knowing.

“Do I have additional company?” Meg's voice broke the stare between father and son.

“Yes, Sir.” Fraser popped to his feet. Meg stood beside the couch wearing a knee length red skirt and loose, short sleeve, white blouse. It wasn't a particularly provocative outfit but it still took his breath away.

Robert Fraser stood beside the couch at parade rest. He couldn't help but see the way his son looked at the Inspector before looking away.

“Detective Vecchio is expecting us, we should be on our way.” Meg slipped her purse strap up on her shoulder.

“Yes, Sir.” Fraser nodded, following her out. Dief trotted ahead of him and into the hallway.

***

By the time they arrived at the precinct, Margaret was ready to run screaming from the back seat. Fraser had circled the block three times to get a parking spot. Dief and Robert both fussed at him for being so polite.

“Constable Fraser, if you do not park this car immediately, I'll put you on sentry duty for the duration of your career, do you understand me?” Meg growled at him, her head throbbing.

“Understood, Sir.” Fraser pulled into a free parking spot half a block away. Meg didn't care, glad to be stationary. The three Mounties and the wolf walked to the precinct, signed in and made their way to Vecchio's desk.

Ray looked up at them from his endless supply of paperwork, glad to have a distraction. Dief sniffed around the desk, looking for the detective's stash of donuts.

“Hello, Inspector.” he motioned for her to have a seat across from him.

“Fraser tells me that you believe you've identified the suspect who mugged me.” Meg sat down, her purse on her lap.

“Yep, we think it's one of these guys.” Ray handed the Inspector a page of photos, each one numbered. She studied the page, eyes narrowed.

“I believe number three and seven are the same suspect. I believe it is him.” she laid the page down on Ray's desk, her short but manicured nails pinned to number seven.

“That's who we believe it is too.” Ray nodded, silently impressed that she'd recognized the two pictures as the same suspect, not that he'd ever tell her in a million years.

“Are there any leads as to his whereabouts?” Meg asked, hoping something had come up since the last time she'd asked.

“I've got the whole squad looking for him, I just got off the phone with his parole officer, he hasn't been seen in two months.” Ray shrugged, the muscles in his jaw working in frustration.

“Ray, here's one hot off the press.” Elaine called across the bull pen.

“An armed robbery, car stolen and the victim at the emergency room.” Ray summed up the sheet Elaine handed him. She hung back, standing beside Fraser. The Civilian Aide took a good, long breath of his clean scent. A dreamy smile picked at the corners of her full lips. When she saw the Mountie swallow hard, she reluctantly moved away. She didn't want to make him unduly nervous, it wasn't nice or fair to him.

“Let's go check out the scene, you comin', Fraser?” Ray stood up, grabbing his gun and shield.

“If the Inspector is agreeable, yes.” Fraser looked from Ray to the boss lady.

“I'd like to accompany you, if possible.” Meg met his gaze, giving him a pleading gaze. She hoped he'd catch on.

“Yeah, just let us do the work, okay.” Ray gave her a stern look. A Chicago crime scene was his territory and he didn't want the Ice Queen taking over. She could bully Fraser all she wanted, but not him.

“Lead the way, Detective.” Meg nodded curtly, rising to her feet.

Ray set off toward the door. Fraser allowed the Inspector to precede him and Dief had to run to catch up. Elaine had fed him a leftover hot dog with chili and onions. He was one happy wolf.

***

 


	10. Vision

_**Oak and Hamilton ….** _

Officers stood at the end of either street directing traffic, their shirt sleeves blowing in what passed for a breeze. Their white and blue cars sat blocking the crime scene. Ray pulled into a convenience store parking lot. The crowd parted for Fraser in his red serge, Ray and Meg followed while Dief zigzagged around the scene. A gruff, uniformed officer met Ray half way, a wary eye on the strangers.

“I'm Detective Vecchio, what've we got?” Ray showed his badge. Most of the uniformed officers didn't pay him any mind.

“The victim, Jenny Stillwell, just left in a bus, she said a guy tried to choke her to death, would have too, if a neighbor on the second floor hadn't started shouting out the window, said neighbor called us.” Ray made quick notes, one eye on the uniformed officer and the other on Fraser. The Mountie had wandered over to where a gold chain lay, pulled from Ms. Stillwell's purse. Meg stood beside him, watching the crowd for spectral faces.

“Ms. Stillwell must have had her purse strap on her left shoulder, there was a struggle, from the blood, the assailant is left handed, she fell to his right.” Fraser stood facing the now empty parking spot, running through the scenario in his mind.

Meg's eyes widened and her jaw clenched so it wouldn't drop. She saw a familiar face in the crowd watching the police. A young man with a striped shirt and short hair looked back at her.

“Fraser,” she tapped him on the shoulder, eyes locked on the ghost. “Fraser,” the young man stood out from the crowd of contemporarily dressed on-lookers. Pain ripped though Meg's skull, jumbled images of people moving, walking, assaulted her. A slender blonde with feathered, frosted hair swayed, the sound of a car hitting the curb, it's frame grinding against the cement curb pierced Meg's ears. Her knees buckled, like someone had taken a sledge hammer to them. Her body shook violently, thrown to the side of it's own accord. The next thing she saw was blue sky and Fraser's face.

“Inspector, are you alright?”

Meg felt his arm across her back, supporting her as she lay backward, arms dangling at her sides. His other hand checked her pulse.

“What happened?” Meg managed, trying to stand on her own two feet. Fraser's arm hovered behind her, should she fail. Still weak kneed, she clutched his forearm. Her free hand clutched her aching head. She'd never had a migraine before. It felt like someone had her head in a vice, twisting for pure, sadistic pleasure.

“You appeared to have had a seizure.” Slowly, he led her to the sidewalk.

“I saw Jimmy Glassberg's death, he was watching a blonde in front of him when the car hit him, he didn't see it coming.” Meg explained, her hand on her forehead. The pain made her want to cry. Jimmy hadn't even been afraid. He died almost instantly.

“Do I need to call for an ambulance?” Ray asked over Fraser's shoulder, peering questioningly at the Inspector.

“I'm fine, I just lost my balance.” Meg looked up, summoning strength to pull herself to her full height.

“I got this if you two want to go, right now it's just taking witness statements, Fraser and me can go to the hospital later to check on the victim.” Ray hitched his thumb over his shoulder at the scene. He wore a loose, rayon shirt and slacks, the coolest clothes he could find that still passed for professional dress.

Meg didn't want to take his suggestion, it showed weakness. She also didn't want to crumple like a Jenga tower again.

“Perhaps the Inspector and I could follow up on Ms. Stillwell's vehicle with Elaine.” Fraser suggested.

“Yeah, that'd be great, I'll have one of the squad cars take you to the station.” Ray used his notebook as a fan as he spoke.

“Thank you, Ray.” Fraser nodded, hands behind his back. The detective moved off to find the least useful uniform and put him to work driving the Canadians.

“Are you alright, Sir?” Fraser asked again, examining her eyes, the way she slumped back against the brick wall.

“No, I am not alright, I just saw the last few moments of a young man's life from his perspective.” Meg rubbed her temples, eyes closed to the bright sunshine beating against the wall behind her.

“Would you like to go home, Inspector?” Fraser stepped closer, his shoulder against the wall.

“No, it won't help.” She brushed the pain away and stood up straight. The pain wasn't going to leave until Meg caught Austin Parker. His victims' pain had lingered for too long.

“Because of the apparitions?” Fraser asked conspiratorially, his blue eyes concerned.

“Just one of many reasons.” Meg looked up from rubbing her temples, a tired smile pulling at her lips.

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Oak and Hamilton Streets are completely fictitious, I have no idea whatsoever about Chicago's geography. They're generic names.


	11. Mildred and Carl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg finds herself the ghost in this vision.

After following up with Elaine about Jenny Stillwell's car, Meg insisted Fraser take her home. She couldn't rub her temples for relief any more. Nothing seemed to help. She felt weak and nauseous from the pain.

Fraser stuck closer than a shirt pocket. He'd seen the Inspector wipe away tears when she thought he wasn't looking. The whole situation seemed unfair.

Meg unlocked her apartment door and breezed inside. She looked forward to a pain killer with her tea and cookies.

“Is there anything you need before I leave, Sir?” Fraser asked, Stetson in hand. He stood at Meg's door, hesitant to enter. Dief wasn't so shy.

Meg shook her head, “No, I'm going to have a cup of tea and then rest, thank you.” She laid her purse on the coffee table.

“Perhaps I could make tea.” Fraser volunteered, taking half a step forward.

“Thank you, Constable.” Meg sank down onto the sofa, relieved to be able to rest so soon.

Fraser laid his Stetson on the coffee table before stepping into the kitchen. Dief snorted at the lack of sugary treats. The old wolf curled up on the floor in front of the sofa.

Meg slipped her shoes off and turned on the television. Her weekly show started and the noise soothed her.

Ben searched the cabinets until he found cookies and tea makings. He waited for the water to boil, taking in the simple décor of Meg's kitchen. She'd decorated in tans and dark browns with Caribbean blue accents.

After the water boiled and Ben set the tea to seep, he looked in at Inspector Thatcher. Her head lay against the overstuffed arm, eyes closed in sleep. He didn't often see her at rest or vulnerable. It occurred to him that the same could be said in his case. Ray and Dief saw him at his best and worst.

Dief looked up from his place at the foot of the couch. He lifted his head to look over at Inspector Thatcher. The old wolf gave Ben a smug chuff before laying his head on the sofa arm.

Shaking his head, Ben set the tea tray on the coffee table. With the heat and humidity, ice tea would have been a better choice. The Mountie sat in the arm chair beside the sofa, taking a load off his feet and back. He quietly fixed a mug of tea, content to watch his superior officer sleep. Relaxed, unaware, she appeared almost angelic in the yellow glow of the table lamp. Ben wondered at her mystery, wondering how a woman so vibrant and charming could turn and castigate him for the slightest offense.

***

Meg's living room lay illuminated by the table lamp and flickering television images as night set in. when she sat up she noticed that her television played Magnum PI and her sofa had morphed into an orangy brown one. A chubby, older man, vaguely familiar to Meg, sat in an arm chair, chuckling softly at the television. Before Meg could speak, a woman's voice interrupted.

“Would you like coffee with your pie? Mrs. Thompson stepped out of the kitchen, silencing Meg. She watched the older woman shuffle over to the couch in her house dress and moccasins, pie plates in both hands.

“No, I have some left, thanks.” Mr. Thompson shut the floor model television off with a large, square remote. His dark eyes shone behind large, thick glasses. His jowls sported a five o'clock shadow and age spots.

“I bought Halloween candy today, I can't wait to see the kids in their costumes.” Mildred Thompson settled her girth on the couch next to Meg. She handed her husband a slice of thick, steaming pumpkin pie. Light glinted off her simple, gold wedding band.

“Halloween is great, I love those candy corn cup cakes Mrs. Rabinowitz makes for the senior citizens center.” Mr. Thompson lifted a fork full of pie to his lips.

Meg didn't understand how, but she knew that Carl Thompson drove the senior citizens center bus four days a week. He'd retired from selling cleaning supplies a few years before; the job that had lead him to his beloved Mildred.

At thirty-eight and forty-four, neither of them had held out much hope for marriage. He'd Mildred's florist shop cleaning supplies for almost two years before asking her out on a date. They made each other laugh and enjoyed baking together. Eight years of marriage later, they were still in love.

“I stopped by the store and bought your anniversary gift today.” He pulled a velvet ring box from the cushion and his thigh.

“Aw, Carl, you shouldn't have, our anniversary isn't until the twenty-eighth.” she set her pie aside.

Meg could see the birthstone ring in her mind's eye before she opened the box. Two stones set side by side on a silver band.

“It's beautiful, I love it.” Mildred gave her husband a hug and kiss, tears in her eyes. “You are always so thoughtful.” she cooed, slipping the ring on with her wedding band.

Meg watched in silence, knowing the couple's grisly fate. She'd always wanted the kind of love they shared. She looked away, feeling empty inside. It felt unfair. Meg wiped a tear from her cheek, feeling sorry for herself.

Someone knocking on the door drew Mrs. Thompson away from her husband's side. She peered though the peep hole.

Meg stood up from the couch, her instincts telling her to bar the door. The Thompson's killers lurked just outside. She wanted to scream, to slam the door in front of Mildred.

Mrs. Thompson opened the door, the chain dangling.

“Hello, dear, what can I do for you?” Mildred pushed her glasses up as she peered at the slight built, teenage girl in the hall.

“I was wondering if I could use your phone, no one else will answer the door.”

“Yes, step inside.” Before the older lady could react, the door flew open, kicked from the outside. Four other teens crowded into the living room. None of them appeared overly clean or sober.

“Meg's heart fell when she recognized Austin Parker leading the mangy pack. He was more than a dozen years younger, skinnier but the malicious glint in his eyes remained.

Mildred stepped back, startled. Two boys rushed forward to subdue Carl, one clubbing him in the head. He crumpled to the floor on his face. Blood began to run down his scalp onto the dark brown carpet. Outnumbered and terrified, Mildred began to jog toward the hall leading to the bedroom.

Meg reached out to grab Austin Parker's shoulder. Her hand fell through his solid form. She was the ghost in this vision. Parker advanced on the chubby woman, his fists clenched. The other teens followed, eyes hungry. A lean, long haired guy lit a joint. He sneered, his eyes narrowed as gray smoke hung around his face.

Mildred tried to slam the bedroom door. Parker's foot shot out to stop her. Scared, the woman cried, her sausage-like hands holding her cheeks. The door bounced off the wall as Parker pursued his victim. Mildred backed into the dark closet, whimpering. Parker pulled the cord to turn the overhead light on. Yellow light filled the dark, narrow space. Parker caught Mildred b her graying, permed hair and dragged her backward, knocking clothes off the hangers lining either side of the walk-in closet.

“Please, what do you want?” She pleaded, tears running down her face.

Meg cried too, helpless to stop the senseless killing. She watched as Parker pulled the birthstone ring from her finger violently. With his free hand, he choked her, his fingers pressing into Mildred's double chin.

“I want everything.” Parker hissed. He grabbed one of Carl's ties and wrapped it around her neck. His accomplices urged him on, standing at the foot of the double bed. They stared in morbid fascination as he used the stout, metal rod to hang Mildred.

Meg turned away, unable to watch any more. She'd seen too many suicides by hanging in her early career. That kind of death treated the body cruelly.

“Inspector, wake up.” a familiar voice called from far away. “Inspector, wake up, you're having a bad dream.” the voice grew louder, more persistent. Meg felt someone touching her cheek, then brushing her hair from her face. Her eyes flew open. Fraser's concerned eyes searched hers. The eleven o'clock news played quietly, the only other source of light the table lamp. Fraser's red serge stood out in the darkness. His gleaming, golden buttons contrasted handsomely.

“Are you alright, Sir?” he asked, still touching her cheek.

Meg struggled to sit up. Her heart hammered, the image of Mildred's gruesome death lingering in her sight. She couldn't prevent the shuddering sob from erupting our of her mouth, followed by bitter bile. She vomited into the trash can Fraser set before her. Tears fell freely as her stomach clenched and heaved.

Fraser fetched a glass of cold water and a wad of wet paper towels. He held her hair as she blindly clutched the rim of the plastic rubbish bin. Meg wiped her wet face once she'd finished. She couldn't help crying, couldn't shake the horror.

“Inspector, may I get you anything, fresh tea perhaps?” Ben asked gently, kneeling in front of her.

“Tea?” Meg whispered, staring into space beyond the flickering television.

“Is she alright, Benton?” Robert Fraser asked, standing behind his son. Dief nosed up as well. The old wolf whined as he lay his head on Meg's knee.

“I believe she will be, Dad.” Ben murmured. He placed a glass of cool water in her hands. When Ben turned to speak to his father, the older Mountie had disappeared. Ben just shrugged.

“They were happy, their eighth anniversary was a few days away.” Meg began to talk, starring at the now muted Daewoo television.

Ben knelt silently in front of her, listening intently. From the violent reaction and bitter tears, the vision had affected her severely.

“They were still in love, true love. Parker and his friends took the Thompsons by surprise, they were eating pumpkin pie and watching some popular, 80's show. His girlfriend knocked on the door, looking innocent and asked to use the phone.” Meg hung her head, barely able to recount the rest.

Ben pulled his hanky from his pocket and handed it to Meg. Her fingers wrapped around his, her thumb caressing his knuckles. Surprised, Ben looked at her in wide eyed wonder.

“How could the do that to those people, the Thompsons never hurt anyone, Carl drove the senior citizens center bus and Mildred volunteered at their church.” Fresh tears glistened along her lower lashes. A single stream cascaded down her cheek. Ben leaned forward and wiped it away. Meg closed her eyes.

“They were lucky to have loves so well.” Ben longed to pull Meg against his chest and hold her until her pain subsided.

“Was your father here a moment ago?” Meg asked, pulling away, breaking their rare, tremulous connection. She watched the light of hope fade from his features.

“Yes, momentarily.” Ben sat back on his heels, distancing himself from Inspector Thatcher. Her emotional distress was clearly over.

“I hope I don't have to relive his death as well.” Meg shuddered, reclining against the back of the sofa.

“It wasn't all that bad, if I hadn't been shot in the back that is. The weather was fairly lovely for winter time.” The older Mountie's voice materialized before he stepped out of the kitchen, into the living room.

“Caroline and I had an anniversary picnic for our first on a day very much like that.”

Meg sat bold upright, sloshing her half full glass of water.

“Mildred and Carl's anniversary, the ring!” She set her water down and pulled a phone message pad out of the the drawer below. The lady Mountie began an accurate but rough sketch of the birthstone adorned band.

“Parker took Mildred's ring as a souvenir, he was wearing it on a chain around his neck when he attacked me.” Meg gave the sketch to Fraser, her eyes bright.

“I'll give this to Ray first thing in the morning.” He tore out the relevant page.

“You have to give it to him tonight, Constable, this could be crucial to Parker's apprehension.” Meg checked the clock on the wall; past one in the morning.

“Well, perhaps a few hours wouldn't make a difference.” She ceded. Fraser had stayed the better part of the night with her.

***

 

 


	12. Stillwell

The Next Morning ….  
Meg met Fraser on the sidewalk outside the consulate. She noted the flash of concern in his eyes as he stopped at the foot of the cement steps to allow her to go first.   
Diefenbaker sat on his haunches, looking from one human to the other, noting their body language. The air hung heavy with the pheromones they both produced. He wondered why they didn't give into the natural way of things already. They both smelled ready, and the body language was right.  
“Good morning, Constable Fraser.” Meg greeted him, smoothing her soft green, cotton blouse. It's scoop neck and curve hugging material flattered her figure. She wore a knee length, tan skirt with nude heels, drawing the eye down her long, shapely legs.   
“Good morning, Inspector Thatcher, you appear well rested.” The Mountie forced his blue eyes to focus on her cinnamon colored lips.   
“Thank you. Have you given the description of the ring to Detective Vecchio yet?” Meg cut to the chase, sipping her coffee as she took the first step up.   
“No, Sir, I was just coming to check-in before going to the precinct.” Fraser began toying with the buckle of his Sam Browne belt as he spoke.   
“Let me check my voice mail and I'll drive to the precinct, I would like to see that this is taken seriously.” although Meg didn't know how she would do that without telling Vecchio that she'd seen it in a vision.   
“Very well, Sir.” Fraser held the front door once she'd unlocked it, her scent carrying lazily on the breeze.   
***   
Ray stood in the hall leaned against the door of Interview One. He wore a loose, rayon shirt with a loud, teal and magenta print. His shirt didn't seem to impress the leggy red head Fraser recognized as an undercover vice officer.   
“So, my Riv is turning corners, fish tailing all over the place, but I pull my gun and try for the scum bag's tires anyway. So, I get off one round, comes close, but,”   
Fraser cleared his throat as he came up behind Ray, making eye contact with Detective Kitt.   
“Good morning, Constable Fraser.” she greeted him in a breathy voice, a coy smile on her full lips.   
“Detective Kitt, hello.” the Mountie doffed his hat.   
“Good morning to you too, Fraser.” Ray turned to face him, annoyed.   
“Detective Vecchio, may we speak to you?” Inspector Thatcher stepped from behind Fraser, her dark eyes cold as she surveyed the scantily clad vice officer.  
“Yeah, sure, let's step in here.” Ray opened the door to the interview room. He watched Detective Kitt wave at Fraser before sauntering down the hall. The Canadians followed him through the gun metal gray door. Fraser pulled out a chair for the Inspector while Ray scooted one out for himself. He watched as the Dragon Lady nodded at Fraser, her expression unusually nervous. Fraser nodded in return before pulling a folded piece of paper out of the inside band of his Stetson.   
“Last night I recalled that Parker wore this ring on a chain around his neck the day of my attack, I have reason to believe it once belonged to Mildred Thompson. I believe it's a souvenir, his first.” Meg watched amusement and disbelief crossed his face. She knew how he felt. If a victim were to give her mysterious evidence she would have very politely pacified them before trashing the sketch.   
The vehemence in the Inspector's voice gave Ray pause. He read her body language; the way she sat forward, hands flat on the table. She believed it to be a fact. As a fellow law office, the Inspector's word was good enough for Ray. Fraser seemed to be on board with the theory as well, which sealed it in Ray's book.   
“Did Casper Mildred drift in last night and tell you all this?” Ray couldn't hold in the smart ass remark for love nor money.   
“Detective Vecchio, if you aren't going to take me seriously then I'm sure Lieutenant Welsh will be happy to reassign the case to someone who will.” Meg replied icily, standing to leave, her dark tan purse already on her shoulder. He'd hit too close to the truth for comfort.   
“Okay, okay, Inspector if you say it was Mildred Thompson's, it was hers, I'm just not sure how you know about the Thompson's murder, it was years ago.” Ray gestured expressively with his hands as he followed Meg to the door.  
“She was a former resident of my apartment.” Meg explained vaguely. Ray blinked once, processing before continuing.   
“I'll add the ring to the APB.” he stood up to walk to Elaine's empty desk.   
“Thank you kindly, Detective.” Meg nodded, adjusting her blouse collar.   
“Constable Fraser, I'd like to go to the hospital, I'd like to check on Jenny Stillwell before she's released.” Meg stood slowly, her head beginning to ache. Her teeth ached.   
“Let me bring the car around, Sir.” Fraser settled his Stetson into place before heading toward the door. He turned back halfway to the door to glance at her, concern in his eyes.   
Meg let a smile pick up the corners of her lips. They traded understanding nods before he turned back. Neither of them saw ray watching the silent exchange.  
***   
Jenny Stillwell lay propped up in her windowless hospital room. She listened as the television played a ball game. Her left arm hung useless in a sling. Nurses had been in and out all day and night one more tap on the door didn't interest her.   
“Miss Stillwell?” a husky, woman's voice asked.   
“Hmm? Yes.” she croaked, moving the bed to sit up farther. Jenny blinked when she saw the uniquely clad officer who stepped through the door. Behind him stood a severe looking brunette with a pained expression.   
“I'm Inspector Thatcher, this is Constable Fraser, we're here to see about you.” Thatcher's tone was pleasant but strained.   
“Inspector? Constable? What kind of officers are you?” Jenny looked the handsome but silent Mountie over.   
“We are with the RCMP, ma'am. We are currently stationed here, in Chicago, with the Canadian Consulate.” Fraser felt the Inspector kick his foot sharply, an order to shut up.   
“I was also attacked by Austin Parker.” Meg moved to the bedside, Fraser trailing behind.   
“Has he been caught?” Jenny's hoarse voice grated on Meg's ears. Hers had sounded just as rough.  
“No, not yet.” Meg clasped her hands in front of her. “I know you've spoken with Detective Vecchio, but I wanted to ask you some questions.” she stood at the foot of the bed, both hands gripping the foot board. Pain had been mounting since leaving the station. Her teeth hurt, her neck hurt and her stomach felt queasy. Before she could form the first question, the Inspector's eyes rolled back in her head. A rush of images spun like a tornado in her brain. She saw Jenny drop her house key in her purse and walk down the stairs toward her car. She hummed the theme to her favorite, childhood cartoon. Emotions splattered Meg, hitting with hurricane force; happiness, curiosity, warm fuzzies, among others. Jenny slid her key into her mid size Ford. Before she could turn the key, a strong hand shot out and took her by the throat. A sharp yank on the back of her neck made her gasp, before she screamed. Minutes later Jenny crumpled to the pavement, unconscious. Parker took off in her car.   
“Inspector Thatcher, are you alright?” a rough hand caressed her cheek before slipping behind her head. Fraser's blurry face filled Meg's vision. She found herself pressed against his chest, his other arm supporting her weight.   
“Are you okay, Ms. Thatcher?” Jenny asked, peering around Fraser's shoulder.   
Meg tried to pull herself together but her knees wouldn't cooperate.   
“Inspector?” Fraser asked again, louder.  
“Fraser, I saw it, I saw Parker attack her.” Meg whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. She clung to Ben's arm until she could stand alone. Even so, his arm lingered behind her.  
“Attack who? Who did he attack?” Jenny asked, adjusting her sling. Fraser filled her in with the barest version of the facts. He kept one eye on the Inspector as she rested in a plastic chair. The visions had taken quite a toll on his commanding officer. She had withdrawn into herself even farther than usual. Her professional shield sported cracks.   
“Wow, I thought that clairvoyant stuff was just for us Americans.” Jenny's eyes sparkled, her voice barely audible.  
“Were you wearing a gold initial charm when you were attacked?” Meg ignored the other woman's wonder.   
Jenny nodded enthusiastically as she set down at the foot of the bed.   
“Parker grabbed the charm, breaking the chain.” Fraser theorized.   
“Another souvenir.” Meg added, using a magazine to fan herself. The room grew silent as all three pondered a moment.   
“Ugg, if only these stupid visions showed the future instead of the past.” Meg complained.   
“Be careful what you ask for.” Robert Fraser chipped in, appearing beside his son.  
“I suppose you're right.” Meg agreed, looking up at the father-son duo.   
“Who are you talking to?” Jenny croaked.   
“We should get back to the consulate.” Meg stood up, avoiding the question.  
“Ms. Stillwell, please call if you need anything.” Fraser pulled the consulate's business card from his Stetson.   
“Thank you, Constable.” she mouthed more than spoke. Meg nodded and edged toward the door. Jenny waved, smiling weakly.   
Together, Meg and Fraser walked down the stark, white corridor, past the nurses' station. From her rigid posture and quick pace, Ben guessed she was hiding tears. He could understand her need for reserve; very few had seen him anything less than stoic.   
“She isn't holding up very well, Son.” Robert Fraser commented, hands behind his back. Meg stopped, spun on her heel and marched back the few steps to the Frasers.  
“I am holding up just fine, thank you,” her eyes blazed as she peered from one to the other. “and I would appreciate it if you would keep your opinion to yourself, Sergeant Fraser.” Meg threw up her hands before turning.  
“Now see here, Inspector,” Robert started after her.   
“Dad!” Ben called, “Dad!” he sped up, “Dad!”   
“What!” the elder Fraser stopped, annoyed.   
“Let her go, Dad.” Ben's dark blue eyes pleaded with him. That expression had undone him since the first time he'd seen it on Caroline's face. Ben had always reminded him of his late wife. They shared certain looks and habits. Looking at Ben had cut like a knife for the longest time, still did.  
“Okay, Son, I'll play nice.” Robert gave Benton a trite apology.   
“Constable, am I to drive myself to the consulate?” Meg asked expectantly, retracing her steps. Fraser jogged to catch up.  
***


	13. Vigil- Edited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a re-post of Vigil, it's been added on to.

Meg pushed her way through the bare minimum of paperwork and return telephone calls. Her headache had stopped but her mind hadn't. She wanted to push aside the visions; images of violence, the feelings of fear and pain. Quitting time arrived with a knock on Meg's door. She looked up from packing her briefcase to the door opposite her.

“Come in, Constable Fraser.” Meg fastened the leather satchel without looking. The Mountie opened the door and stepped in, Stetson in hand.

“Thank you very much, Constable, but I do not require an escort home.” Meg waved her small hand, cutting him off before he could offer.

“Understood, Sir.” Ben lowered his head. Seeing her lying in a pool of her own blood still haunted him.

“Goodnight, Fraser, I'll see you in the morning.” Meg waited while he opened her door before walking toward the front door. She let herself out only to hear an “oooffff” as the door struck Fraser in the chest.

“You're following me home regardless, aren't you.” Meg asked, seeing the answer in his eyes.

“Yes, I am.” he stood straight and tall, silently standing his ground.

Meg sighed, partly annoyed, partly flattered by Fraser's protectiveness. She handed him the keys to the consulate car. If he insisted on coming then he could drive.

“I've taken the liberty of calling a cab, Sir.” Fraser shook his head, declining the keys.

Meg narrowed her dark eyes, resisting the urge to smile. His blue eyes shone in the evening light. For a moment Meg wished they could lay on a blanket, looking up at the setting sun together.

“Here we are, Sir.” a Gemini cab pulled up to the curb. Fraser opened the rear door with flourish. Meg gathered her skirt and slid into the back seat. Fraser waited until she'd situated herself on the far side of the seat before climbing inside.

At the door of her apartment building, it didn't surprise Meg when Fraser paid the driver and jogged to catch her.

“You won't give up, will you.” Meg shook her head, fishing for her keys.

 _“Not as long as I can keep you safe.”_ Ben shrugged, an enigmatic smirk pulling one corner of his mouth. “Door-to-door service, Sir.”

They walked to Meg's door slowly. She contemplated what to do with Fraser. Should she let him inside? Perhaps she should order him back to the consulate. Either way, Fraser wasn't likely to leave her alone.

Ben had already scoped out a place to watch the building from across the street. Dief had chosen to stay at the consulate. He wanted to stay and sleep in the air conditioning. That was fine with Ben, he didn't want to hear the wolf whine about the humidity anyway.

“It's going to be a long night.” Robert Fraser commented dryly, appearing for the first time in several hours.

“Only if you're staying.” Meg grumbled, unlocking her door.

“No wonder the Yank calls you the Dragon Lady.” Robert commented back. He could see what attracted Benton, but on the other hand, she had a bitch streak a mile wide sometimes.

Meg glared at the elder Fraser biting her tongue lest she go too far. She couldn't fathom how Benton could be his son. Maybe being dead had emboldened him.

“Thank you for accompanying me home, Constable Fraser, I'll see you at the consulate, in the morning.” Meg turned to her subordinate, ignoring Robert Fraser.

“Good evening, Inspector.” Ben bid her before turning to leave. He wasn't going far.

***

Near midnight, most of Meg's neighbors slept peacefully. Ben leaned against a young maple tree, glad of a late, cool breeze against his face.

“You intend to stand there all night, just watching?” Robert Fraser asked from behind his son. “She'll never know where you want to go unless you take the lead.” the older Mountie rocked back on his heels, hands clasped behind him.

“Hello, Dad.” Ben answered, standing up straight. He wasn't in the mood for his father's nagging.

“Relationships are funny things, idealistically, they're fifty-fifty arrangements. Realistically, someone always has to take the reigns.” Robert continued.

“This isn't a horse, Dad.” Benton turned to his father. All he wanted was to keep Inspector Thatcher safe, wasn't it?

“That Metcalf woman didn't hesitate to blaze a trail and we see how that ended.” Ben and his father glared at each other, eyes locked. Robert looked away first. He shouldn't have brought Victoria into the conversation.

“Mom followed you through Hell and half of Canada.” Ben couldn't hold his tongue. The wound Victoria had left had yet to knit together properly.

“Point taken.” Robert stared at his boots. He knew his son's pain. Nothing cut deeper or lingered longer than regret.

For a while father and son stood in silence. Both of them watched as an Impala started roughly, back fired, and then cruised by, a working woman in the passenger seat and a man in the driver's seat. Ben waited for it to swing back around but it didn't.

“Do you approve of Inspector Thatcher, Dad?” Ben asked, his voice soft, reminiscent of the little boy from long ago.

“I'm dead, it's not a matter of my approval.” Robert gave his usual, dry response.

***

Elaine sat at her desk, coffee in one hand and night patrol reports in the other. She'd already gathered all Parker's known associates' files, former addresses, work histories and IRS returns.

“Good morning, Ray.” Elaine greeted him without looking up. The smell of fresh, expensive aftershave had announced him at the bull pen door.

“Hey, Elaine, what do you have for me?” Ray shuffled his expensive shoes to her desk first.

“Anything you could ask for, already on your desk.” Elaine pointed an ink pen toward the corner where he kept his comfortable mess. She shoved the pen behind her ear, letting it disappear into her dark curls.

“Sheesh, Elaine, I didn't want his grandparents' records.” the detective whined.

“Yes, you did, I remember you saying, and I quote, ….”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, sheesh, take me literal why don't ya.” Ray turned and walked back to the door. Anything Fraser was up to was more interesting than sifting through a mountain of files.

“I'll be back later, Elaine.” Ray called.

“Tell Fraser hello for me.” Elaine heard Ray's faint grunt in response.

The detective drove his precious Riv toward the Dragon Lady's apartment. Turnbull had confirmed over the phone that the Mountie hadn't stayed at the consulate. Morning air cooled Ray as he cruised down the street past Jaguars, Lexus, and BMW's. The Dragon Lady lived in a wealthier part of town the detective first class could afford. That suited Ray just fine. Up town gave him the creeps anyway.

“Hey! Benny!” Ray called out the open window, hoping to wake up a few snobs. “Benny, good morning.”

The Mountie stood beneath the shade of a tree, his eyes unblinking. Ray parked the Riv curb side, then strolled over to the Canadian. A slight breeze ruffled the detective's loudly printed rayon shirt.

“Yo! Benny, you in there?” he waved his hand in front of Fraser's face.

“Detective.” Thatcher's voice made Ray turn.

“Ray, Inspector Thatcher.” Fraser stepped away from his post, the first time he'd moved in hours.

“Constable, hello.” Inspector Thatcher nodded to the two me.

Fraser took Meg in from head-to-toe quickly. From her starched, white, short sleeve blouse and tailored khakis, she looked cool and crisp. Morning sunlight back lit the thin material. Ben had to pull his eyes away from her curves.

“Benny, you comin'?” Ray asked. From his tone, Ben knew he'd asked before.

“Hmm, yes, thank you kindly, Ray.”

All three of them settled into the Riv and took off for the consulate and the Twenty-seventh Precinct.

***

 


	14. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are winding down....

Lunch time ….  
Turnbull had walked over to the Twenty-seventh on his lunch break to bring the Inspector and Fraser lunch. The junior Mountie walked in on them sifting through a mountain of files. Dief trotted over to Elaine's desk first.   
Fraser sped read one stack while Thatcher and Elaine researched another. Ray wrote out a list of places for uniformed officer to check.   
“Good afternoon, Constable Turnbull.” Thatcher greeted, nodding curtly.   
“Hello, Sir.” I have your favorite.” smiling brightly, he set a white, to-go bag on the corner of the desk.   
“Thank you.” Meg didn't look up. She'd been squinting far too long and her head hurt to prove it.  
“Well, I'm ordering Chinese, you want anything, Elaine?” Ray stood up, stretching as he did.  
“As long as it's something chicken.” Elaine looked up from her place beside Thatcher. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder, facing Ray and Fraser.  
“We should all take a brief break for lunch.” Fraser stood too, his lower back protesting hours spent sitting.   
“I agree.” Meg scooted back from the desk. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “As soon as the others have their orders we'll eat.” she met Ben's gaze a moment. Promptly at ten o'clock, her light had gone off. She'd been awake long afterward. Light foot falls throughout the night had attested to it.   
“I should call the consulate, make sure it's in one piece.” Meg picked up Elaine's phone and dialed from memory.   
For a moment Ben desperately wanted to be the telephone handset; just to be that close to her. He wanted to touch her alabaster skin once more.   
“Benny, you want an egg roll?” Ray clapped him on the shoulder. He couldn't stand the gooey eyed, love struck expression on his friend's face, especially directed at the Dragon Lady.   
“Yes, thank you kindly, Ray.” Fraser turned his attention away from the Inspector. Sometimes he wished Lt. Welsh were his superior officer. He didn't cloud the Mountie's mind with warm, brown eyes and ruby lips. It wasn't the summer heat making him sweat.  
***   
“You've ruined him, you know.” Sgt. Fraser's voice startled Meg as she stood at the sink, staring at her reflection. The older officer stood facing the wall, a frosted glass window over his head.   
“I am in a public restroom, a ladies' room.” Meg hissed after checking the stalls. She didn't want to talk about Fraser, especially with is father.   
“Benton's been hopeless since he met you, constantly second guessing himself. Even the Yank has noticed.” Robert Fraser continued, despite Meg's glare.   
“I've done nothing to Constable Fraser, his unconventional methods do not mesh with the goals of the Canadian Consulate, he has no regard for the public image we must maintain. His personal quest for justice causes tension between us and the Americans.” Meg adjusted her blouse, tugging at the hem on either side.  
“You didn't have to DO anything, it's what you don't do. You don't fawn over him like scores of other women, at least with them he knows where his footing lies. Someone should step up and lead the charge.” Robert deserved better than the mine field she'd set out between them.  
Elaine stepped into the restroom to wash her hands. She almost forgot to when she saw Inspector Thatcher staring angrily at a spot below the grated window.   
“Is everything okay, Inspector?” the Civilian Aide asked, looking around the bathroom.   
Meg whirled around at the sound of a familiar, feminine voice.   
“Oh, hello, Miss Bresbiss.” the lady Mountie soaped her hands and hastily washed. She'd seen the same behavior from Benton time and time again; vague, non-answers, avoiding the question entirely, the nervous fidget. Now she understood why. Meg didn't bother to dry her hands, she left the restroom just shy of a jog.   
“Everyone has gone to the break room for lunch, would you care to join them, Inspector?” Fraser caught her a few yards down the hall from the powder room.   
“Yes, hopefully without our spectral guest.” Meg groused. She and Fraser looked back to see Sgt. Fraser shrug innocently. He received matching scowls for his efforts.   
With Fraser a step behind, Meg walked toward the break room. Detective Vecchio, Turnbull, and Elaine sat around the table, waiting for them. The Mounties settled into the odd, little group. Dief nosed Ray's knee for a treat. Meg silently thought she could get used to eating with friends.   
***   
After lunch, the group spent a few more hours sifting through files. Meg's head ached and she couldn't stand the racket going on around her. At two o'clock she stood up to stretch. Ben watched her roll her shoulders and massage her neck. Lazily, she used a file folder to fan her face.  
“Eh, Benny, we've done about all we can, if you and Thatcher want to head back.” Ray's voice called him back to reality. The detective leaned back in his chair, tired of reading files. He'd rather cuff and stuff a suspect any day.  
“I agree, I'll suggest it to the Inspector.” Fraser laid his last file aside before standing up.   
“Constable Fraser, we should return to the consulate, I believe the local authorities can handle things from here.” Meg stood straighter when her handsome subordinate approached Elaine's desk. She noted, with some jealousy, how he met Elaine's gaze before giving her a polite nod.   
“Yes, Sir, I'll call for a cab.” Fraser held his Stetson in hand, ambient light shining in his blue eyes.   
“Very well.” Meg gathered her purse and briefcase while Fraser used Elaine's phone. A few minutes later they were ready to leave. Ray had promised again to call if anything turned up.   
Together, Fraser and Thatcher walked out into the sweltering, mid afternoon heat. Meg squinted against intense sunlight. Fraser adjusted his Stetson, silently wishing he were back in the territories.  
“I'll be glad when this heat wave breaks.” Meg shielded her eyes with her slim handbag.  
Down the street, Fraser heard a starter grind before catching and then the sound of a rumbling exhaust system. He'd heard that particular combo before. He scanned the street quickly. A primer coated Impala eased forward. All of Fraser's senses jumped to high alert. He stepped up beside Meg, effectively pinning her to the building.  
“Constable Fraser, what are you ….” Meg protested, until he grabbed her and threw her to the sidewalk. Less than a second later a shot rang out. A spray of brick chunks pelted them. Before Meg could move, Fraser had found his feet, running hard and fast after the Impala. Dief gave chase, out distancing Ben easily. He jumped at the driver's window, nipping at the man's bare arm. The driver swerved into a parked car, causing a chain reaction resulting in a destroyed fire hydrant. Water spewed twenty feet into the air.   
Before the driver could bail, Dief growled on one side of the car, Fraser on the other. The ruckus had brought everyone out of the precinct to see the damage.   
“I'm gonna blow your head off!” Parker shouted, thumb cocking his revolver.   
“Not so fast.” Ray pressed his service revolver into Parker's shoulder, Dief growling loudly in his ear. “Twitch and I'll let the wolf use you for a chew toy.” The menace in the detective's voice made Parker think twice. Fraser took the hand gun pointed at him away from Austin Parker.   
Elaine and Thatcher walked up as ray cuffed the scum bag. He glared at Meg, his eyes a cold void radiating malace. True to form, Meg glared back, unimpressed. She snorted disdainfully as Fraser and Vecchio hauled him away.   
“Welsh is going to have a stroke.” Elaine commented after clicking her tongue.   
“Why?” Meg asked, shouting to be heard over the wail of sirens and onlookers.  
“That's his car.” the Civilian Aide pointed to the t-boned car sandwiched between the Impala and the fire hydrant.  
“Oh dear.” Meg muttered. Ottawa wasn't going to like this at all.   
***


	15. 15 Appreciation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The original ending.

_**Dinner ….** _

Dief licked his chops after polishing off a serving of steak strips Ray had rewarded him with. Fraser shook his head when the wolf looked up, begging for dessert.

“You really shouldn't spoil him, Ray, he's far too soft already.” Ben chided as he pushed away his empty, stir fry plate. A middle aged, Asian waitress cleared both places quickly. As usual, she'd been doting on Fraser for speaking to her in Mandarin.

“Ah, it ain't a donut, and he deserves it, right, Dief?” The wolf gave Ben a steadfast, self-assured expression.

“Perhaps you're right, Ray.” Benton pulled out a Canadian five for a tip while Ray settled the bill. The Asian waitress followed them out the door, complaining in rapid Mandarin. Ray exchanged Ben's five for a US Note. Dief trotted ahead, sniffing the sidewalk.

“So, did the Dragon Lady say thank you for saving her life, twice, yet?” Ray pulled out the Rivera keys. They slid in a moment later. People of all kinds and colors passed them on the sidewalks, taking no notice of the odd trio.

“I haven't had the opportunity to speak with her since we apprehended Parker.” Ben laid his Stetson on the dash as he buckled his seat belt.

“I bet you twenty dollars she won't.” Ray pulled out behind a garbage truck.

“I don't gamble, Ray.” Ben responded dryly.

“Yeah, yeah, you know what I'm sayin.” the detective shrugged, ceding the point.

The conversation turned to other things as Ray drove back to the consulate.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Ray.” Ben leaned into the window, Stetson in hand. A faint breeze drifted his way, stirred by a passing car.

“Alright, Fraser, see ya.” Ray took off slowly.

Reluctantly to go inside to stale, air conditioned air, Ben watched his friend's tail lights disappear around the corner. Dief whined at the top of the steps. He wanted to lay on his soft, fleece bed beneath the air conditioning.

“Hello, Benton.” Robert Fraser strode out of the shadows behind a nearby street light.

“Hello, Dad.” Ben greeted the elder Mountie.

“How did the arrest go? Did he put up a fight?” Robert punched the air, his glory days flashing through his mind,.

“Not much, I believe Diefenbaker intimidated him, as did Leftenant Welsh, when he saw his totaled car.” Fraser answered, glad of a relatively easy arrest. The wolf gave an affirmative snort in agreement.

“I still don't understand why Parker would risk shooting the Inspector in broad daylight.” Robert shook his head. City crooks baffled him sometimes.

“She lived, Inspector Thatcher and Jenny Stillwell were his only victims to survive.” Ben answered.

“Have you spoken to the Inspector?” Robert asked, a little too casually. He watched Benton from the corner of his eye as a plumbing truck passed.

“No, she left the precinct before Lt. Welsh released Ray and myself.”

A young man on a moped cruised past listening to a portable radio strapped to the handlebars. Up beat music wafted through the humid, night air.

“Hello, gentlemen.” Meg's voice carried over the music.

“Inspector.” Robert more growled than greeted.

“Inspector Thatcher, good evening.” Benton nodded cordially.

Robert noticed the momentary flash of excitement in his son's eyes and voice. As much fun as embarrassing them would be, he decided to leave them alone.

“Well, it's time I turn in.” He announced, taking a deep breath.

“Goodnight, Dad.” Ben and Meg watched him disappear into the shadows beyond the nearest street light.

“Hmm, he wasn't his usual, contemptuous self.” Meg commented before censoring herself.

“Yes, he did seem reluctant to stay.” Ben didn't take exception, his father had always rubbed some people the wrong way. He and Meg stood in awkward silence for a long moment.

“Thank you, Fraser.” Meg finally blurted. She resisted the urge to tug at her blouse, instead clasping her purse tighter.

“For what, Sir?” He hadn't meant to make her squirm, but she radiated nervousness.

Meg met his gaze, silently choosing her words.

“For going above and beyond the call of duty during this case, for doing it for me. I came to thank you for saving my life, twice.” She pushed through the difficult part. He hadn't laughed at her or reacted in any way.

“I'm happy to have been of service, Sir.” Ben answered softly, his thumb stroking the brim of his Stetson.

“You did more than 'be of service', Fraser, you listened and believed me, without question, you kept me from falling on my ass and making a spectacle of myself.” Meg glanced at him as he stared at his high browns. She opened her purse, slowly pulling out the handkerchief he'd given her days before.

“Not many subordinate officers sacrifice white, linen hankies for their commanding officer.” Meg offered it to him on her open palm.

“I had forgotten about it, thank you kindly.” Ben laid his hand over hers a moment. The softness, the hope, in her rich, brown eyes caught him off guard. Their eyes locked, their hands lingering. Ben hadn't forgotten her tears or the way she called out in fear.

“ _There is a tear for all who die, a mourner o'er the humblest grave_.~ Byron, _Elegiac Stanzas_ ” the words spilled from Ben's lips before his brain could catch them. Meg's loosely parted lips tipped up into a smile. He never ceased to surprise her.

“ _The only cure for grief is action_. ~ G.H. Lewes _The Spanish Drama_ ” She responded, recalling golden days in Literature class during university. Meg's thumb grazed Ben's knuckle. She stepped closer.

“May I thank you properly?” She asked, letting her heart guide her. It wasn't too late for the Thompsons, and it wasn't too late for her. With a shaking hand, Meg reached out and laid her fingers on Fraser's cheek. She stepped up on tip toe, praying he'd stand still. Her lips met his warm skin softly. Eyes closed, Meg lingered, memorizing the moment. He felt solid against her fingertips, his jaw working as he kissed her in return, eyes closed. She felt his Stetson against her back as he pulled her closer.

“You are most welcome.” Ben stuttered, breathless after Meg's kiss. Stunned, he watched as she left him with a smile and a wave. She had definitely thanked him properly. Dief barked his congratulations.

_**The End** _

 


	16. 15 Alternate Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate ending. I didn't know which to post so I'm posting both. May the fans be the judge.

_**Dinner ….** _

Dief licked his chops after polishing off a serving of steak strips Ray had rewarded him with. Fraser shook his head when the wolf looked up, begging for dessert.

“You really shouldn't spoil him, Ray, he's far too soft already.” Ben chided as he pushed away his empty, stir fry plate. A middle aged, Asian waitress cleared both places quickly. As usual, she'd been doting on Fraser for speaking to her in Mandarin.

“Ah, it ain't a donut, and he deserves it, right, Dief?” The wolf gave Ben a steadfast, self-assured expression.

“Perhaps you're right, Ray.” Benton pulled out a Canadian five for a tip while Ray settled the bill. The Asian waitress followed them out the door, complaining in rapid Mandarin. Ray exchanged Ben's five for a US Note. Dief trotted ahead, sniffing the sidewalk.

“So, did the Dragon Lady say thank you for saving her life, twice, yet?” Ray pulled out the Rivera keys. They slid in a moment later. People of all kinds and colors passed them on the sidewalks, taking no notice of the odd trio.

“I haven't had the opportunity to speak with her since we apprehended Parker.” Ben laid his Stetson on the dash as he buckled his seat belt.

“I bet you twenty dollars she won't.” Ray pulled out behind a garbage truck.

“I don't gamble, Ray.” Ben responded dryly.

“Yeah, yeah, you know what I'm sayin.” the detective shrugged, ceding the point.

The conversation turned to other things as Ray drove back to the consulate.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Ray.” Ben leaned into the window, Stetson in hand. A faint breeze drifted his way, stirred by a passing car.

“Alright, Fraser, see ya.” Ray took off slowly.

Reluctantly to go inside to stale, air conditioned air, Ben watched his friend's tail lights disappear around the corner.

Dief came back down the steps, a questioning whine in his throat.

“Well, the case is over, the Inspector is safe.” Ben twirled his Stetson between his hands. Dief turned his head as if to ask what was wrong.

“I suppose I'll miss having someone else who's aware of Dad.” Ben sighed. Sharing that knowledge had been a relief.

“And how is your father?” Meg's voice surprised him. She'd walked up the sidewalk toward him very quietly.

“Fit as a fiddle, for a dead man.” Robert Fraser answered, stepping out of the shadows of the alley beside the consulate and nodding at Meg.

“It's a shame for a Mountie to be caught unaware, Son.” Robert chided.

“Yes, it's a rookie mistake, Constable.” Meg joined him. She wore a pair of jeans and an RCMP tee shirt with her tennis shoes.

“In my own defense, one of you is a spectre and the other a highly trained law officer.” Benton looked from one to the other.

“I suppose.” Robert shrugged.

“It was my intention to steal up on him.” Meg met Robert's gaze. They broke into mischievous smiles.

Benton blinked, torn between confusion and humor. He let humor win. Dief barked, he hadn't caught all of the joke. The quartet walked inside the consulate in an amiable silence.

“May I ask what brings you here this evening, Inspector?” Ben held the door for her. Dief barged inside first. Turnbull had thoughtfully left on a hall lamp.

“I didn't have the opportunity to speak to you after Parker's arrest.” Meg clasped her purse strap, unsure of what to do with her hands.

“My incident report will be on your desk first thing in the morning, Sir.” All good humor had melted into formality.

“It always is,” Meg rushed to speak her piece, “but I wanted to tell you how much ….”

“I apologize for the damage caused to Lieftenant Welsh's automobile, he assured me he's well insured.” Benton interjected, misinterpreting her flushed cheeks and drawn brow.

“Go on, spit it out, tell him thank you, tell him something, Lass.” Robert urged from his spot to the rear. Both younger Mounties turned to him, glaring.

“Don't you have chains to rattle, elsewhere, _Sergeant_?” Meg hissed his subordinate title.

“You're the one who's a RANK amateur.” Robert growled back, his woolly brows drawn over fierce, blue eyes.

“Why, you pompous ….” Meg began.

“Dad, may I speak to the Inspector, privately?” Benton cut in before she got rolling.

“Baa!! You two are hopeless.” Robert bleated before turning and walking to the kitchen.

“I apologize, Inspector, my father is quite maddening at times.” Ben stood very still at his usual parade rest.

“He's also right.” Meg smoothed her tucked in tee shirt.

That puzzled Ben. Right about what?

“We are hopeless.” Meg spoke softly, glancing quickly up at Fraser, “I came to tell you how grateful I am to you for saving my life, twice.” she had so much more she wanted to say. Thank you only tipped the iceberg.

“You are most welcome, Inspector.” He stopped himself from saying, 'it was my duty'. Duty had very little to do with the matter.

With a shaking hand, Meg reached out and laid her fingers on Fraser's cheek. She stepped up on tip toe, praying he'd stand still. Her lips met his warm skin softly. Eyes closed, Meg lingered, memorizing the moment. He felt solid against her fingertips, his jaw working as he kissed her in return, eyes closed.

“Now that's a proper thank you.” Robert Fraser commented with a devilish gleam in his eye.

Meg set down on her feet, turning away to hid her embarrassment.

“Dad!” Benton frowned at his grinning father, a scarlet blush creeping up his collar.

“I should go.” Meg pulled away, her formal mask rising. She stepped away only to have Fraser stop her. Turning back, she saw a softness in his eyes that she'd only seen once; when Randall Bolt held a gun on her.

“If, in the future, you feel the need to thank me, please, feel free to do so. You're quite talented at gratitude.” Benton left the decision up to her, as usual.

“I will.” Meg let a smile pull at the corners of her mouth. “You aren't unskilled in appreciation yourself.” she watched a dazzling smile spread across his face. She'd never seen him more handsome, more beautiful.

Robert and Dief both shook their heads. Slow though it was, they'd made progress.

_**The End** _


End file.
